


Coping Mechanisms

by fencer_x



Category: Sekai-ichi Hatsukoi
Genre: Alternate Universe - Career, Blow Jobs, Children, Hand Jobs, M/M, Single Parents, Switching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencer_x/pseuds/fencer_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yokozawa Takafumi is a pre-school teacher who finds himself getting a bit more involved than he perhaps ought to in the lives of Kirishima Hiyori and her recently-widowed father Zen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn't that he necessarily _liked_ kids, he wanted to be clear.

He'd never babysat younger cousins or the sort when he was younger, never looked after a neighbor's child and felt like _this_ was what he'd been born to do. Even if he had, for whatever strange reason, felt like childcare was his calling, he never would've given in to the absurd 'dream', because, well, who the hell would trust their children to a guy who looked like he'd sooner mug them at knifepoint in some seedy back alley of 2-chome than make sure little Shouta or Yuuko or whatever their brat's name was enjoyed their afternoon snack at 2 PM on the dot?

So it wasn't that he liked kids.

He'd honestly never felt particularly strongly about them one way or another; so long as their parents kept them quiet in his immediate periphery, they could cart around as big a brood as they liked, it was none of Takafumi's concern. One, five, ten--whatever.

It just happened that he was actually really _good_ with them. And logic generally dictated that you take a job--part-time or otherwise--in a field you had some measure of skill with. Which, for Yokozawa Takafumi, happened to be childcare. 

Kids were different. They weren't like adults, didn't take one glance at you and immediately decide if they liked you or not, if you were worth their time or not, if you were a _nice person_ or not. They might make some snap decisions about how much they trusted you, sure, but it was a hell of a lot easier to win over a pre-schooler than it was a thirty-year-old in a suit that he'd probably paid too much for. And given that employers weren't exactly chomping at the bit to invite liberal arts majors fresh out of college to work for them in positions that typically required years of experience, Takafumi had had little recourse but to make what had started out as a _part_ -time gig into something a little more _full_ -time.

At least he could be assured that he wouldn't be trudging around scaring the crap out of his coworkers or charges just because he couldn't be assed to paste on some forced smile all day long. Fuck, if he'd gotten shoehorned into some customer service position…he would've been miserable. No, this wasn't the job he'd always dreamed of having--but it was steady work, fulfilling, and as long as he had a beer waiting for him in the fridge at the end of the day and Masamune a phone-call away, things weren't all that bad.

"Papa's late today…"

Takafumi flicked his gaze up from the tower of wooden blocks he'd just finished building, frowning at the concern evident in the wide brown eyes that were focused on the closed door at the front of the classroom. At past 5 in the evening, most everyone in the preschool had left for the evening--students and staff included; the principal was still in his office, last Takafumi had checked, and a pair of secretaries were busy putting together pamphlets to hand out to the prospective new students' parents at a mixer coming up the following weekend--but the only ones left in the 3-to-5-year-olds' classroom were Takafumi and Kirishima Hiyori, waiting as they had most every weekday evening for the past few months for her father to come pick her up.

"He'll be here soon, I'm sure." He decided to try stacking the tower taller, picking through the little bin of blocks for a cylinder. "Your Papa's working hard. He's got an important job, after all." Hiyori hmmed softly, not entirely buying Takafumi's schtick, it sounded like, and he snorted. "C'mon, help me out here--I'm not building this thing for my own health, you know."

"It's gonna fall," she announced with some conviction, wrinkling her nose at his efforts and crossing her arms as she took in the tower. "The one you built yesterday was shorter than this and it still fell."

"Maybe I've learned from my mistakes," he countered lightly, raising a brow when the cylinder block he placed atop the tower failed to induce even the slightest wobble. "There, see?"

She remained unconvinced, cocking her head in consideration, before pursing her lips together and releasing a soft _whoof_ of air into the structure--sending the entire thing toppling onto the carpet and scattering block about the both of them, which just sent her into a fit of giggles.

Takafumi gaped in shock at his hard work destroyed, sputtering in irritation and confusion, before relief washed over him and soothed his ruffled feathers.

It felt like it had been ages since he'd seen this kid smile--since he'd heard her really _laugh_. She wasn't the shy type, had always been outgoing, but…well, she hadn't had the easiest of lives, and no kid deserved to have to go through the kind of shit she'd had to, least of all at her age. Preschool was a difficult time for a lot of kids, having to be separated from their parents the bulk of the day and being herded into cramped little rooms and forced to interact with others they might not really get along with, but at least most kids had the chance to go back to their parents at the end of the day, get a hug and a snack and a _how was your day sweetie?_

That was kind of difficult when one of them was dead and the other worked shitty hours. 

He began to scoop the blocks back into the bin, casting her a wry look. "That was cheating, just so you know. I want it noted that I _definitely_ managed a ten-block-tall tower that only toppled when a rogue little girl came by and smashed it to pieces."

She flashed a toothy grin but continued to help him clean up, her pigtails swishing from side to side as she bounced along to music she could only hear in her head. "Shoudn't'a built it near me then," she reasoned simply, squealing when he reached forward to tug at one of the pigtails in revenge. "You're gonna mess up my hair, Fumi-sensei!"

"So what?" he returned easily, tossing the last block back into the bucket and snapping it shut. "You'll just wind up whining at me to put them up for you again." He held up the bucket, nodding his head to the cubbyhole in the back corner of the room. "Now go on--let's head out to the front foyer. Your papa'll be here any minute I'm sure."

"Yessir~" she responded robotically, taking the proffered bucket and lugging it back to its place.

"Good girl," he encouraged--then jolted in place at the light tinkling of the bell hanging over the classroom door as one of the secretaries--Kashihara-san--poked her head through, glancing around until she caught his eye. He eased himself back up onto his feet, wincing with the effort--he was far too young to be feeling this damn old--and shuffling over to see what she needed. "Something wrong?"

She dropped her voice to keep Hiyori from overhearing. "Kirishima-san's on the phone--needs to speak with you; doesn't sound like he'll be able to make it for a bit longer." She flicked her gaze over to Hiyori, brows knitting in pity.

Takafumi followed her eyeline, pursing his lips, then nodded. "Mind watching her while I take the call?" She nodded and slipped inside, holding the door for him, and as it shut, he could hear her melodic voice calling out to Hiyori, but couldn't tell if she was apologizing for Kirishima-san's tardiness or simply trying to distract her with another game.

He jogged down the hall to the staff room, sliding the door open and making his way over to the reception desk where the receiver hung off the hook. He swallowed, bringing it to his ear. "…Yokozawa speaking."

_"Ah, Sensei?"_ The voice on the other end sounded haggard, any vitality in the tone merely forced, and Takafumi frowned as he reminded himself that it wasn't like Kirishima-san _wanted_ to leave his daughter at the pre-school until 6, 7 in the evening, and that he was struggling with loss just as much as his daughter--that any decent human being would sheath their claws and dull their barbs and try to be a little _understanding_ when someone was doing their best to keep their head above water through trying times. _"My apologies for taking your time--"_

"It's--quite all right, really," Takafumi reassured, too quickly for his own liking, and winced at the forced cheerfulness in his voice that Kirishima-san must have picked up on. "Hiyori-chan has been asking after you, though." There; nothing too personal, nothing too prodding, but a reminder all the same that he did have responsibilities. Takafumi was doing his part; Kirishima-san needed to do his. There was muffled chatter over the line, as if Kirishima-san had pulled the phone away to speak with someone next to him, and Takafumi couldn't help blurting out incredulously, "Wha--are you still at your office, Kirishima-san?"

_"Yeah--I just--"_ He caught himself, likely wary of being too casual with his daughter's teacher. _"Really, I know this is an incredible inconvenience, but--my mother can't make it by to pick her up in my stead, and I realize this is out of order and I'm more than happy to pay any extra care fees associated with it, but--could I possibly ask one of the staff to look after her until 8? I'll make every effort to be by before then but--"_

" _Eight_?" Takafumi repeated, the word catching in his throat--this was entirely off protocol. Most children had been dismissed hours ago, with the late pick-ups ending around 4. Hiyori was their only custodial charge, but most days Kirishima-san was able to come for her by 6 at the latest. The school itself _closed_ at 7, so 8 PM was just…

Kirishima-san didn't miss the tone and was instantly apologetic, the exhaustion in his voice all the more palpable in the wake of his stammered, _"I--I know it's far too much to ask, and believe me, if I had any other choice, I wouldn't ask this. But I can't get away, and she's far too young to see herself home--"_

"O--of course she's far too young!" Takafumi snapped, coloring at his tone and immediately apologizing, "I--sorry, I'm sorry, that was--I just…yes, yes of course, I understand." He massaged the furrow between his brows, keenly feeling the the heavy weight of the dead silence that stretched between the two for a few long beats, before he attempted to mend the burned bridge with, "It's simply, you see…the custodians will be in shortly to clean…and they'll have everything locked down by 7, 7:15, so…it's quite impossible to keep her here until 8."

He could feel the despair seeping over the airwaves, dejection and frustration and _fuck everything_ almost palpable--and Takafumi kind of understood what that felt like, so he ought to know. _"I…see."_

Audible swallowing as Kirishima-san no doubt wracked his brain for some alternative, something he hadn't thought of before that Takafumi was quite sure he would find no success in doing--and he simply couldn't take it anymore, couldn't be the person making this poor man's life shittier than it already was, and so he opened his mouth: "If you're comfortable with it…"

Almost immediately came a breathy, _"Yes?"_ tone far more hopeful than it had any business being.

Takafumi grimaced, glancing about to be sure he was alone in the staff room; it was awkward enough offering this as it was--he couldn't even be entirely sure this wouldn't get him chastised by the principal. "Just--I'm Hiyori-chan's homeroom teacher and…I live two blocks from the center. I was planning on heading straight there as soon as I'd finished my duties for the day--" He didn't add _as soon you'd picked up your kid_ , "--so, I mean…if there's nowhere else for her to go, if you can't find anyone else to take her, then…I can look after her at my place until you arrive." He hastily added, "I've been working here full-time for quite some time now, and part-time even longer, and I'd be happy to provide some character references if that was any concern. But, of course--you'd have to check with the principal first, though--I'm not on the list of pre-approved guardians or anything, so you'd have to be sure to let them know in advance that…" He trailed off when Kirishima-san didn't respond, no _oh no no no I couldn't possibly_ or _That's…I should probably make a few calls instead_ or even a _fuck no I'm not letting some kid fresh out of college be alone with my 4-year-old_. "…Kirishima-san?"

_"…You seriously wouldn't mind?"_ And Takafumi spared only a moment to be a bit irritated that Kirishima-san was jumping on the idea so readily instead of doing the proper thing and trying to avoid inconveniencing others--but then, the guy sounded at the end of his rope, and for whatever reason, today sounded different from the other days when he was usually rather prompt or was at least able to get Hiyori's grandmother to swing by and pick her up.

He nodded to himself before answering, "I--yeah. Yes, I mean. It's really no trouble, it's not for very long after all--"

_"Yeah--no no, not long at all. I'll be around as soon as I possibly can, it's just this deadline is--"_ But he cut himself off, assuming correctly that Takafumi had neither the slightest knowledge of nor interest in his line of work. _"You said…I need to speak with someone?"_

"Yeah…the principal. You'll need to give anyone not on the list of pre-approved guardians permission to remove your child from the campus grounds so…"

_"Sure--absolutely, I understand."_ There was a brief pause before he hesitantly asked, _"I…can I talk to her? You know, just to explain?"_

"Oh--yes of course, just a moment." He gently set the receiver back down, slipping back into the hallway and jogging the few meters to the classroom where he was pleased to find the secretary having a rather animated conversation with their final charge. "Hiyori-chan? Your papa's on the phone; seems he wants to speak with you."

Her head whipped around so quickly the little pigtails slapped her in the face, and she brightened instantly as she scrambled to her feet. "Phone call from Papa??"

"Yup--in the staff room." He flicked a glance to Kashihara-san, brows raised, and she nodded, reaching a hand out to Hiyori and beckoning her to go and see what Kirishima-san could possibly want. As they passed, he dropped his voice to explain, "I'll be back in the staff room with the principal shortly--don't hang up if you finish before we get back." She nodded again and was off.

A soft knock and admission granted later, Takafumi was struggling to explain the haphazard suggestion he'd made to Kirishima-san, praying silently that he wouldn't be told off for taking liberties he wasn't meant to and that he had no place offering something like this to a parent and _what if the other parents found out?_ but to his great relief, the principal simply sighed, nodded, and said he'd go and discuss with Kirishima-san what could be worked out.

They found Kashihara-san looking on fondly as Hiyori cradled the receiver with both hands and chatted animatedly with her father on the other end. She snapped around at the sound of the door sliding open, though, and blurted out, " _Papa_ , Fumi-sensei's back!" Kirishima-san must have made some comment at this, for she flushed and stamped her foot. " _Gosh_ , Papa, you're horrible!" She then nodded in assent to whatever he said next and bid him a quick but perky farewell before holding the receiver out. "Fumi-sensei?"

But the principal stepped forward first, gently relieving her of the receiver and asking her to go wait with Kashihara-san--who was already pulling out a piece of scratch paper for her to scribble on--while he had a chat with her Papa.

Takafumi looked on fondly, only half-listening to the principal work out the particulars of he arrangement, as she sketched out a crude drawing of the tower they'd been building in the classroom, complete with herself standing next to it huffing and puffing until it collapsed with a huge smile on her face. If a couple of hours of overtime--time he would've otherwise likely spent on his ass at home or getting drunk with Masamune--were all that was needed to keep her mind off of more serious, adult matters…then he supposed it was worth it.

"Takafumi-sensei?" the principal called, bringing him back to the matter at hand, and Takafumi straightened up, glancing down at the receiver. "Kirishima-san would like a final word."

He nodded and brought the phone to his ear. "This is Yokozawa."

_"I've just gone through the formalities with the principal, but--should we discuss anything else?"_ A pause as Takafumi considered this--probably ought to go ahead and confirm his address, right?--when Kirishima-san volunteered, _"I'm…not quite sure how payment for the overtime will work; this is obviously outside of your usual duties, so--"_

"Oh--oh, no, please--no no," he sputtered, flushing first from the suggestion that he ought to be _compensated_ for this and then more from the bemused looks that Kashihara-san and the principal threw his way. "That is--I mean, it's quite unnecessary…"

_"…You're sure? Hm."_ He didn't seem entirely satisfied, and Takafumi began to despair that he'd find the guy trying to push a 5000-yen note into his palm on parting later on. _"Then--could I get your address?"_ Takafumi managed to recite his address with minimal difficulty, trying to slow his heart, and remind himself it was just for the evening, an hour with a kid who never caused any trouble (though she could be a bit bossy at times; even Takafumi had learned this the hard way), it wasn't like he was agreeing to do this on a permanent basis, so-- _"Sensei?"_

"Ah--yes?"

_"I was…just saying I'll be by as soon as possible."_ Which was probably later now than initially planned, since they'd taken up a good 20 minutes of the poor man's time by now. _"And--thank you again. Seriously. You're doing me a huge favor; I'd much rather she be with someone she trusts and is comfortable with if I can't be there for her myself."_

And it sounded so genuine, true gratitude, that Takafumi had to suppress a soft flutter in his stomach as he dully responded, "…Uh, yeah. Sure."

_"Eight, then. I'll drop by with my thanks."_ The line went dead, and Takafumi held it away, staring at it in confusion for moment before shaking his head and replacing the receiver in its cradle--when something tugged at his apron, and he found Hiyori staring up at him with wide eyes, excitement evident.

"I get to go home with you now?"

* * *

If the 20-minute delay following the phone conversation had affected Kirishima-san's deadline in any way, it didn't show, and Takafumi's doorbell rang with a soft electronic _pin-pon_ at 7:55 as he pulled the door open to find a harried, huffing Kirishima-san on the other side, plastic bag heavy with beverages and snacks in one hand held up as a peace-offering. "I'm not late, am I?"

Takafumi blinked, feeling more than a bit awkward; he'd only ever spoken to the man in the foyer of the pre-school--and even _that_ had only started in the past few months. He could count on both hands the number of times they'd traded niceties, and to have the guy be standing here in his _genkan_ now, the both of them in casual clothes, with a plastic bag from 7-11 that looked very suspiciously like it was holding an assortment of booze and _tsumami_. He gaped for a moment before forcing himself back to his senses and muttering, "No--no not at all, please come in…"

Kirishima-san ducked his head with a soft _Sorry for the intrusion_ as he toed out of his loafers. "She wasn't much trouble, I hope?"

"Not at all," Takafumi reassured, relieving Kirishima-san of the bag and jerking his head to an open doorway. "She's on the couch--I found some paper for her to doodle on; I'm afraid I don't have much around her in the way of children's entertainment."

"Even though you're a pre-school teacher?" Kirishima-san quipped, one brow raised and the side of his mouth quirking up to follow it, and he brushed past Takafumi into the living room area, calling his daughter's name before abruptly pausing with a soft _Ah_ , sending Takafumi scrambling to find out what had gone horribly wrong in the span of five minutes. "…I suppose it _is_ about her bed-time, huh…" Kirishima-san noted fondly, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over his chest while Takafumi looked on from behind--finding Hiyori snoozing with a pencil still clutched in her fingers, draped over the low coffee table in front of the couch. 

He strode forward and squatted down, gently scooping her into his arms and cradling her against his shoulder, rocking her a bit to settle her back down again when she started to stir. Takafumi watched, feeling a bit out of place, and quickly averted his gaze when it became apparent he was intruding on something by his mere presence. 

"I know you said you didn't want any compensation," Kirishima-san offered, calling his attention back, and nodded to the bag Takafumi had taken from him, "But I couldn't not give you _something_." Takafumi glanced down, taking quick stock of the goods. "Hope there's something in there you like, at least. I grabbed an assortment." He stepped forward, slipping past Takafumi at the threshold to the living room, and offered with that lilt he'd shown when teasing Takafumi at the _genkan_ , "I'll treat you to a drink next time you're free."

"That's--really not necessary," Takafumi quickly managed, setting the bag down to attend to later and scrambling forward to see the Kirishimas out the door. "Honestly--if it's just a one-time thing, then there's really no reason to…" He paused, pulling back and taking in Kirishima's tall, silent form. "It… _is_ just a one-time thing, right…?"

"Hm?" was the reply, brimming with feigned ignorance as Kirishima-san toed on his loafers again.

"This--you'll be able to pick her up again tomorrow on time, right?" Not that he'd terribly minded, but it was hardly appropriate for him to be spending his evenings with little girls not even out of pre-school yet, and while he sympathized with Kirishima-san's situation…surely this wasn't ideal for _anyone_ involved.

Kirishima-san's gaze flickered over his face, studying him, and Takafumi found he felt very much like a bug under glass, had just been measured and found wanting, and the amusement seeped from Kirishima-san's features like youth leaving him visibly, only fatigue and resignation left behind in its wake as he forced a smile. "…Of course, Sensei. I'll speak with my mother about rearranging her schedule and be sure not to trouble you like this again."

…This _fucker_. He'd chosen his wording well, plucking just the right strings, and if Takafumi had been anyone else, he might have been impressed with the master bit of manipulation--but as it was, he just felt guilty, like _he_ was responsible for how very _old_ Kirishima-san looked just now when he couldn't have been more than ten years his senior, likely even less, and as Kirishima-san leaned on the door handle, moving to step out into the hallway and trouble Takafumi no further--he found himself raising one hand and his mouth forming the words, "W--wait…"

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Takafumi ever met Kirishima Zen, he hadn't known what he'd expected Hiyori-chan's father to look like--but it certainly had been about as far from the figure Kirishima-san cut as it was possible to be. His wife had always been the one to greet Hiyori-chan at the school gates when the children were released from the center in the afternoons--a slight, slender woman who looked liable to fall over with the next strong gust but with a strong personality and an easy demeanor as she chatted with the other parents and conversed with staff.

But Kirishima-san had been _nothing_ like his wife, and Takafumi was reminded of the saying _opposites attract_ \--tall and ruffled and rumpled, always in disarray like he'd just rolled out of bed, and certainly not the 'office worker' Takafumi had been under the impression he was. His face seemed older than his 30-odd years, lines of stress and experience tugging at the corners of his eyes which too often as the days wore on showed purpling bags hanging beneath. He'd had that easy charm, though, that Takafumi associated with slick salesmen--the kind of charisma that tempted both men and women to lend him their ears and eyes, and on more than a few occasions, Takafumi had caught some of the younger mothers casting glances at him that their husbands probably wouldn't have approved of.

He'd thought, stupidly and simply enough, that they'd been having marriage troubles--the Kirishimas. Some days Hiyori-chan's mother would seem weak and broken when she showed up, other days she wouldn't show up at all and would send Hiyori-chan's grandmother to pick up her daughter in her stead--and still other days, when Kirishima-san's workload permitted or there was no other choice, Kirishima-san himself would drag himself by the center on his way home from the office, frame thinner and expression graver than Takafumi might remember.

And then one day, Hiyori-chan didn't show up at all--and Takafumi overheard two of the staff members gossiping in hushed tones that she'd been excused to attend the 49th-day funeral service for her mother. He'd relived every moment, every interaction with the Kirishimas in his mind at that point, watched them hide the pain of their private lives behind smiles and witty repartee with classmates' parents and guardians, agreeing to playdates and park outings when underneath their lives were falling apart--and Hiyori-chan's with it.

He'd changed how he'd treated her after that--not out of pity, _never_ that, because when someone was grieving, no matter the age, pity only trapped them deeper in their pit of self-loathing and _why does this shit always happen to me_. But engaging her more, giving her something strong and permanent and unwavering, like his mere presence, might help her settle her emotions and fears, and while she'd never spoken of her mother--maybe never would to Takafumi at least--she'd seemed to more or less bounce back, moving on as children were wont to do or risk life moving on without them.

There was a rhythmic knock at his door, softer given the late hour than it might have been if Kirishima-san had come by an hour sooner, and Takafumi shifted to his feet, muting the television before padding softly into the foyer to greet his guest. Admittedly, 9 wasn't all that late--but Hiyori-chan was already out like a light, had been since just after the meager dinner they'd enjoyed on arriving in Takafumi's apartment. If she'd been less than thrilled with the fare, though, she hadn't shown it, cleaning her plate and clapping her hands together in thanks after the meal, drawing a soft smile from Takafumi. Kids.

Most days that Takafumi now found himself doing some rather unorthodox babysitting, Kirishima-san would drop by around 8 or so--some days later, almost never earlier. The days tended to get later as the month wore on, he'd started to notice a couple of weeks into their strange arrangement, until by the end of the 'cycle', as it was, Kirishima-san didn't show up at all, instead sending an elderly woman Takafumi now recognized as Kirishima-san's mother over to pick up his daughter. Then, like clockwork, he'd be back when everything reset, ringing the buzzer or rapping his knuckles on the door with a sheepish grin and chilled booze from the local conbini in a plastic bag as recompense. 

Tonight, he had a bottle of oolong tea and a steamed bean-paste bun--and while Takafumi had already eaten, this would be a nice late-night snack. They exchanged niceties at the door, Takafumi taking the bag while Kirishima-san toed off his shoes before stepping up into the apartment proper. He didn't miss the way Kirishima-san's gaze flicked in the direction of the kitchen as they passed down the hall into the living room, and he snorted softly to himself. "Make yourself comfortable and I'll heat up the last of the stew we had earlier."

Kirishima-san flushed uncharacteristically at being found out, high points of pink on his cheeks, and he stammered, "Oh, no that wasn't--that is to say, I was wondering if she'd eaten--"

And here Takafumi flushed as well, this time with a rush of irritation. "You seriously think I'd let a child go to bed hungry? You _do_ realize what I do for a living, right?" He quickly turned on his heel, stalking into the kitchen in a huff and training his focus on pulling down a clean plate and cutlery to distract himself from the look of blank shock on Kirishima-san's features at his snippy retort. He really did suck at this--being congenial and making small talk. It was why he tended to just let his coworkers see off the children and chat up the parents who dropped by. He just didn't do well with most adults, so why risk offending any of them with his gruff demeanor when there was no particular reason for him to show his face. 

It had started off him just feeding Hiyori-chan, killing two birds with one stone and as he satisfied both their hungers--and while he wasn't a whiz in the kitchen, he liked to think he knew how to take care of himself (had earned plenty of experience caring for certain unnamed parties not too far in the past, in fact), and it was a way to make up for the treats that Kirishima-san liked to drop by with in appreciation for the job Takafumi refused to let him pay him for doing.

It just didn't feel right, taking money from Kirishima-san for something he had no control over, but to explain as such would surely only make things awkward, so he settled for stubborn silence, refusing any overtures of payment.

What had begun out of simple convenience, though, quickly evolved to Kirishima-san himself taking his evening meals (or what Takafumi assumed probably amounted to as much) the evenings he made it by to pick up Hiyori-chan himself. He'd refused the first time he'd been offered leftovers, tentatively accepted after Takafumi practically poured the curry in his lap the second, and ducked his head with a, "Thanks…" the third time--cleaning his plate as well as Hiyori-chan had done earlier in the evening, until by this point it was all but expected that any leftovers from dinner would go not into the refrigerator but onto a plate for Kirishima-san when he finally showed up. 

Takafumi suspected that, given his lifestyle and the hectic hours he seemed to keep, the guy wasn't eating properly even when he _did_ have the time to cook for himself and his daughter, and the caring streak within him reared its ugly head, prodding him to make mental notes of dishes Kirishima-san seemed to enjoy and those he more or less picked at out of politeness. 

He'd tried taking a step back at one point, to take stock of their arrangement--but the sight had shaken him so much (Kirishima-san arriving home after a long, exhausting day at work to a daughter already in bed and a warm meal on the table, prepared with consideration for his tastes) that he'd never attempted to do so again--this was charity, plain and simple, and more for Hiyori-chan's sake than her harried father's. The guy had practically conned Takafumi into doing this in the first place, so there really was no point in ascribing some ridiculous 'domestic' notion to whatever their arrangement was.

Kirishima-san winced when Takafumi set the bowl down on the little coffee table with a bit more force than necessary, following up with a glass of ice water that he was more careful with. "Thanks," he repeated, glancing up nervously to be sure he caught Takafumi's eye and adding a small nod.

Takafumi huffed a short, "Sure," and slipped back into the kitchen, praying the guy would finish his meal soon and bundle Hiyori-chan away into his car and be off until they danced this dance again the next evening. Pots he'd left to soak in his sink earlier were quickly rinsed off and scrubbed clean as he distracted himself with mundane chores--which proved successful, for he nearly jumped out of his skin in fright when a light hand brushed over his shoulder for attention.

"S--sorry, I tried calling you, but…" Kirishima-san apologized, blinking owlishly and gesturing to the sink. "I'll rinse out my bowl, if you'll let me have the sink?"

Takafumi glanced down at the bowl, cleaned of the stew he'd prepared earlier, and then back at the empty sink now. "Oh--yes, of course…" Protocol would dictate that he graciously decline the offer and finish the dishes himself--who let a guest do such chores?--but he was thrown off by his thoughts and Kirishima-san's uncanny ability to sneak up on him, and instead mutely moved out of the way, running fingers through his hair as he headed back into the living room, eager to place distance between them.

* * *

"So what's her name?" Masamune quipped with a sly smile as he knocked back the last of his drink, waving the empty tumbler at a waitress whose eye he'd caught to demand another.

"Huh?" Takafumi groused in confusion, drawing pictures in the condensation of his own glass distractedly. "The hell are you on about? You've only had one drink and already I can't understand a word you're saying."

Masamune snorted, crossing his arms and leaning over the table. "Her name. Whoever it is you're spending all your time with these days that I had to make plans to have a fucking drink with you _two weeks in advance_." The last bit carried a hint of irritation, but Masamune's knowing smile assured he was garnering more enjoyment out of teasing his friend than truly pissed at having to schedule a meeting with a friend. "Seriously, though, Yokozawa--this is the first time we've said more than three words outside of e-mail in a couple of months. She's got a name, doesn't she?"

"There's no _she_ ," Takafumi reminded shortly, but Masamune ignored him in favor of his refill that had just arrived at their table. "I've just been busy."

"You're a fucking kindergarten teacher; how 'busy' can you seriously be with that--especially in the evenings?"

"Pre-school, asshole." He narrowed his eyes in irritation. "Don't play stupid. Besides--" He took a swig from his own drink. "You haven't exactly made yourself available lately either." Waxing serious, he shifted the topic of conversation. "…No luck with your piece, yet?"

Masamune made a face, obviously less thrilled with this change of subject than Takafumi had been with the mythical girlfriend Masamune seemed to think he had secreted away. "It's hell out there on the market right now. You'd think I was trying to sell them a bag of dog shit instead of a manuscript. But--" He raised a glass in a mock toast. "Going in for a pitch with Onodera Shuppan's lit division next week." He quirked a brow. "Fifth time's the charm, right?" Takafumi shook his head, fighting a wry smile, and clinked his glass against Masamune's to humor him.

They knocked back the rest of their drinks, draining their glasses, and settled into a comfortable silence--one of the truly great things about being friends with Masamune now. Takafumi hated having to speak just to fill silence, or listening to someone drone on and on about ridiculous shit just because they liked the sound of their voice. With Masamune--everything was just easier, alcohol or no. 

"Well if you ever need help getting laid," Masamune interrupted his thoughts, twisting in his seat to find another waitress to flag down and keeping one eye trained on Takafumi, "Just let me know." Takafumi froze, swallowing thickly and praying his eyes weren't flashing wide and surprised, like his friend's idle comment had dug down deep and hit something sensitive, something scarred but not quite healed--but Masamune turned away entirely, then, adding in the same easy, even tone, "You can always have some of my leftovers."


	3. Chapter 3

It couldn't be helped; Takafumi understood that--perhaps more than Kirishima-san himself--but convincing the guy of that fact had been damn difficult.

"Kay…'kay… Yessir. Okay. G'night." Hiyori-chan held out Takafumi's cellphone expectantly, unsure what to do with it now that her conversation with her father had ended, and Takafumi tried to force a comforting smile as he relieved her of the device, checking to be sure the call had been ended before snapping the screen shut and slipping it back into his pocket.

"Well?"

She wrinkled her nose, but showed no other signs of being all that ruffled by the situation. "Said to brush my teeth and get ready for bed and do whatever Fumi-sensei says to do."

"That'll do, then," Takafumi smiled, tugging on one pigtail. "Want me to braid them for you, so you've got nice wavy hair in the morning?" Her soft _ah!_ of excitement was response enough, and he nodded in the direction of the bathroom. "Let's go get you set for bed, and then we'll see about the braids."

She nodded brightly, toddling ahead of him to the bathroom on legs that were a bit unsteady from fatigue--it was nearly past her bedtime, so she could hardly be blamed.

He was relieved, though, that she seemed to be taking this evening in stride, exuding the same easy, comfortable demeanor her father affected even though he _knew_ that somewhere underneath, there were likely roiling emotions they'd have to deal with at some point in the future, lest they fester into resentment.

It was the end of another one of Kirishima-san's 'cycles', the strange lull and peak in activity that waxed and waned like the moon every month, so hectic at the end that he suspected Hiyori-chan saw neither hide nor hair of her father as he threw himself into his work. Takafumi occasionally found himself wondering just what it was like being editor-in-chief of a manga magazine--being in charge not only of the quality of his subordinates' work but also having to ensure that everything went out on time…it didn't sound like the most forgiving of careers, and certainly not one conducive to raising a family (let alone trying to do it without the aid of a spouse). But then again, it was steady work it seemed, probably came with a decent-sized paycheck, and Takafumi doubted Kirishima-san had intended on having to try and raise his daughter alone when he'd accepted the position.

He tugged open the cabinet under the bathroom sink, rifling around until his fingers found an old, unopened travel toothbrush, and he slipped it from its packaging to hand to Hiyori-chan. Trusting that she could handle this part of her toilette herself, he darted back into his room, rummaging through his dresser to try and find an old t-shirt so the poor thing didn't have to sleep in her school clothes. Kirishima-san had promised to bring by a change for the next day--but she'd need something to wear to bed before he arrived.

Typically, picking up Hiyori-chan on evenings like this--ones where Kirishima-san wouldn't be expected to make it out of the office until past midnight--was a job relegated to Kirishima-san's parents. But a twist of fate--or rather, a twist of an _ankle_ and a bad fall down a set of stairs--had landed his father in the hospital for a few days with his mother watching over him and taking care of paperwork. It had been sudden, unavoidable, and _horribly_ timed, if accidents like this could be said to have any 'timing' at all.

When he returned, he found Hiyori-chan rinsing off the toothbrush in the sink, struggling to reach the knobs to stem the flow with her stubby little arms that couldn't quite stretch far enough--and, taking pity, he reached over her head to turn off the water. "There's a t-shirt on my bed if you want to wear it as pajamas. I realize it's not the most glamorous of bed wear, but it's all I've got--so it's either that or your school clothes." When she cocked her head in consideration, he clarified, "Your papa's bringing you a change of clothes for the morning, but he won't be by until late, I expect, so you'll have to deal with what I've got to offer this evening."

She nodded and hopped down from the stool Takafumi had drawn up, heading for his bedroom as he watched her fondly from where he stood. In the several months that had now passed since he'd agreed to their unconventional arrangement, he'd grown more fond of what he never would have admitted aloud was his favorite charge, routinely bowled over by how well she seemed to be taking a situation that Takafumi wasn't sure he could have held his own in, had the tables been turned.

She never complained about whatever Takafumi prepared for dinner--though the same couldn't be said of her father, but he suspected Kirishima-san mostly made his comments in an effort to rile Takafumi up--always did as instructed, treating 'Fumi-sensei's' word as gospel truth, and was sure to thank him for his hospitality on evenings when she managed to stay awake by the time Kirishima-san arrived to take her home. And on those evenings when Takafumi _didn't_ have to watch her, the rare occasions when Kirishima-san or his mother managed to make it to the center before the staff vacated the building, he had to admit he found himself feeling a little…unfulfilled. Like he'd missed a favorite television program, or a call from a good friend he couldn't soon get back in touch with. It just left a little mark on his evening that not even drinks with Masamune and the pleasure of his undemanding friendship could entirely soothe.

Tonight, though, he was getting his fill of this glorified babysitting position as he settled onto his couch, Hiyori-chan dutifully crouched on the floor between his legs, and began to braid her hair as he'd promised--the female staff at school liked to coo over him when he did domestic little chores like this, to his irritation, so he rarely indulged the students who worked up the nerve to ask, but he'd never really been able to turn down Hiyori-chan, especially when he explained it to himself as a way of making her day a little bit brighter.

He tapped her on the shoulder when he'd finished, to make sure she hadn't dozed off on him, and she whipped her head around--braids flying--to turn a bright grin his way. "Thanks, Fumi-sensei!"

"Yeah yeah--all set for bed, then?" She glanced down, tugging on the oversized shirt she'd borrowed, and he snickered. "No complaints; I wasn't exactly expecting company." But perhaps he should have, he reasoned to himself, and reminded himself to bring up the notion of leaving a change of her clothes here with Kirishima-san when he finally made it in. There was no discounting the possibility of this happening again, and better safe than sorry.

He ushered her into his room, where he'd already turned down the bed. It dwarfed the little girl who was now struggling to make her way up onto the mattress, but it would be plenty snug enough when her father eventually joined her. Takafumi had already pulled down bedding to set himself up on the couch, which wouldn't be the most pleasant of experiences, but he could hardly expect guests to bed down on the floor on futons with most of the stuffing missing.

He acquiesced to her requests for a glass of water and one bedtime story, but gave her a warning look when she asked for another, and she blushed shyly and whispered goodnight as she snuggled under the covers, squinting her eyes shut for show. Takafumi just chuckled to himself, sure she'd drift off for real whether she wanted to or not in short order, and muttered his own 'goodnight' before flicking off the light and slipping out the door.

The apartment was quite--far quieter than he'd been used to of late, and lonelier for it. Takafumi shuffled back into the living room, pausing to glance at the muted television--the 9 PM news--before settling onto the couch again and resting his eyes for a moment with a deep, bone-tired sigh.

* * *

"…nsei." Pause. " _Sensei_."

Ugh--who the _fuck_ was bothering him at this hour…?

" _Sen_ \--Yokozawa-san?" Takafumi blinked blearily, the world before him a bright blur of color and movement, and he reached up with hands that felt like dead weight attached to his wrists to wipe away the sleep from his eyes.

He closed his eyes again, shaking his head once for good measure, before trying to bring his surroundings into focus, glancing up to find mirthful brown eyes staring down at him, amusement clear on the features. "…Kiri…shima-san?"

"Sorry for just letting myself in--but you weren't answering the door, and I didn't want to disturb your neighbors by making too much noise. I suppose I don't need to ask if Hiyo made it to bed all right." Oh-- _right_. The Kirishimas were sleeping here tonight, the hour far too late for Kirishima-san to risk rousing Hiyori-chan just to cart her to the other side of the city. He flicked his gaze over to the clock on the wall--then winced, and wished he hadn't. Kirishima-san must have caught the expression, for he chuckled self-deprecatingly, "…Yeah, that's about how I feel about the hour, too."

With another swipe at his eyes and a brush of fingers through his hair--god, he hoped he hadn't fallen asleep against one of the cushions and was walking around with some embarrassing pattern branded on his face--he moved to stand, making overtures to greet his guest properly. "There's--some left-over pasta, if you want? Not much, but I can heat some up. I've got oolong, too, if you--"

"I ate at the office," Kirishima-san assured easily, standing tall and straight with his hands in his pockets. "No need to go out of your way on my account."

"It's not going out of my way," Takafumi returned, unable to disguise the mild irritation in his voice; the guy hadn't seemed able to bring himself to ever drop the habit, not in over three months now, of continually apologizing, one way or another, for imposing on Takafumi. Which, granted, if he hadn't been a _little_ sorry for foisting his daughter on her pre-school teacher far above-and-beyond the call of duty, Takafumi would've deemed him a royal asshole, dead wife or no. But the way he wouldn't just come right out and _say_ he was sorry, wouldn't use those stock phrases that were part and parcel of the Japanese social mores, just made Takafumi feel like _he_ was an asshole for expecting them.

"…Then, have a drink with me."

"Huh?"

Kirishima-san held up the plastic bag he always carried with him whenever he set foot in the apartment: this time, the contents were clearly alcoholic. "I promised you a drink on me at some point, if I recall correctly."

Takafumi raised a dubious brow. "'Booze from the conbini' counts as you treating me to a drink?"

Kirishima-san just snorted and plopped himself down on the couch--in just the spot Takafumi had vacated. "Beggars can't be choosers."

"Who's begging?" he returned easily, but walked back into the living room proper, abandoning any pretense at heating up leftovers or pouring a cup of tea for his guest.

"Me; so--please." He raised his brows hopefully, glancing up at Takafumi from the couch. "I've had a hell of a night, and I don't wanna get drunk alone."

"And _I_ don't want to get drunk _at all_ ," Takafumi reminded. "I do have work in the morning, you know. As do you, I'm sure."

Kirishima-san just shrugged, removing the cans from the bag and popping the tab on one before sliding it over in front of Takafumi. "The worst is over; I'm not going in 'til tomorrow afternoon. And if they need me before then, they can shove it up their asses." Takafumi didn't know who 'they' was, and from the way Kirishima-san spoke, he didn't much care to find out who 'they' were, either.

He took a tentative sip of the beer, watching carefully as Kirishima-san took a long draw on his own, before abandoning all pretense of propriety and knocking back half of the contents in one gulp. Masamune had been frustratingly evasive in all invitations to go out drinking lately; this was the closest Takafumi had come in weeks to sharing a beer with a companion. He wanted to savor it.

Kirishima-san must have been of the same mind, for a long moment of silence passed between them before he broke it with, "…I really am sorry. For asking this of you."

And ah, there it was--the direct apology that Takafumi had been waiting for all this time. Except it didn't make him feel like they'd finally stepped back inside the boundaries of societal norms, only increasing the awkward tension. "It's…nothing, really."

"Really?" Kirishima-san repeated, sliding his gaze over with a quirk of his lips, disbelief in his tone. "I find that difficult to swallow; you're young, I'm sure you've got better things to be doing on a Thursday night than babysitting a pre-schooler and sharing a beer with her old man."

"You're the one who invited me," Takafumi reminded, words muffled in the lip of the can as he took another sip.

Kirishima-san snorted softly, "And so polite, too. You're a catch, Sensei." He likely meant it to be a teasing compliment, and so Takafumi dutifully ignored the thread of genuine praise he convinced himself he hadn't heard in the comment.

Instead, he frowned, "…You don't have to call me that." It was an absurd moment to bring it up, after all this time--but then, they hadn't had a chance before now to settle down like this and have a conversation that didn't involve a quick run-down of Hiyori-chan's activities that evening and a hasty _goodnight_ over the genkan. 

"What?"

Takafumi tightened his grip on the can, indentations appearing in the aluminum. "'Sensei'. I'm just a pre-school teacher, and this hardly falls under my job description."

Kirishima-san seemed to mull it over for a few moments before nodded slowly. "…I suppose you have a point. If it makes you feel better, then--" And Takafumi glanced up, perplexed--because when had he said anything about it making him 'feel better' to be less formal with Kirishima-san? It simply made no sense, that was all. "--'Yokozawa'?" Takafumi felt his brow twitch a bit at the sound of his name on Kirishima-san's lips. Foreign, but not unwelcome. Kirishima-san misinterpreted the gesture, though, amending with a sly smile, "Or 'Takafumi', if you prefer that?"

"'Yokozawa' will be quite adequate, Kirishima-san."

"You can call me 'Zen' if you like." He seemed to divine from the dark glance Takafumi turned on him that this was very much not an option, for he snorted and raised one hand in apology, "All right, all right. Baby steps, then."

Takafumi rolled his eyes, disguising the grudgingly affectionate smile that threatened to surface with another swig of his beer. He knew he ought to be irritated, outright disgusted even at the level of immaturity someone like Kirishima-san could display--and he might have been, 6 months prior, before everything in the guy's life had gone to shit--but somehow…it kind of relieved him, knowing that despite everything, all the trouble Kirishima-san had been forced to deal with these past few months, he still managed to smile, crack jokes, put on a brave front. And even if it _was_ just a front, even if Takafumi understood that the smile would never penetrate deep down, that the jokes were hollow and the teasing mere distraction, it still spoke of what could be, eventually, with time. There was always the chance that some day he'd smile like that for someone and it would be real and genuine and full of bone-deep affection. Humans were tough like that, and Takafumi respected that Kirishima-san was strong as nails. 

Something glinted in the light, reflecting the picture of the muted television to catch Takafumi's eye, and he paused mid-gulp, staring unabashedly at Kirishima-san's left hand. Kirishima-san paused as well, brows quirking in bemusement before he followed Takafumi's line of sight to see what had caught his attention--and the smile was no longer amused, merely sad and tired and weak. He twisted the ring around his finger with his thumb for show, chuckling dryly. "…I dunno, just can't bring myself to take it off yet."

Takafumi flushed, stammering to disguise his shame at being caught staring, "Oh--no, I didn't mean anything by--" He swallowed, licking his lips. "It simply caught my eye. Is all."

Kirishima-san's smile waxed a bit fonder, to Takafumi's relief. "…And here I thought maybe you were jealous." He laughed more loudly than he probably should have for the hour at the perplexed expression Takafumi turned on him. "Relax." He waved his hand again for show. "It keeps the sharks from biting."

Takafumi silently mouthed _sharks_ to himself in confusion--before he realized Kirishima-san must have been referring to women who would likely jump at the opportunity to snare a lonely widower with a high-paying job, even if he was saddled with a kid. "…Suppose so," he grunted, but felt he'd touched a nerve.

Kirishima-san didn't seem inclined to let the issue drop so easily, either, continuing to turn the ring about his finger as he stared at it in silence, his beer forgotten in his free hand. "…I know it's not healthy." He grimaced. "I mean--they made me sit through some kind of grief counseling shit at the office after--well, after. And the shrink--he mentioned something about it. That it was fine for a while, but that you were supposed to make a plan for letting things go, saying goodbye and shit." He snorted, but it sounded forced, empty. "Like I hadn't been working up to saying goodbye for years." 

Takafumi glanced away uncomfortably, rolling his can back and forth in his palms. "…Suppose he had good intentions," he offered neutrally.

"Fuck good intentions," Kirishima-san groused with a twisted smile, knocking back the rest of his beer with one hand while he reached for a new can with the other, popping the tab as he set the empty can down beside it. "I'll deal with this my own way." His voice dropped here, and he seemed to be speaking more to himself now than the imaginary grief counselor or Takafumi.

Takafumi swallowed thickly, not quite sure of what to say. "…Sometimes it's best to do just that." Accepting pity and failed attempts to 'help' from others was often the surest way to never healing properly, this much Takafumi knew from experience. Crutches only went so far to help before they became something you relied on, so it was better to do away with them entirely and just force yourself back to your feet by your own strength. Take the pain--shove it down, bury it deep, and move on. And if mementos did you good, if you their mere presence was enough to help you get through the day in one piece without wanting to punch something because life wasn't fucking fair, then so be it. Kirishima-san could keep his wedding band, and Takafumi would go out for drinks with Masamune when they could spare the time. It wasn't hurting anything to have this one, little balm, and fuck anyone who told them they were _clinging to the past_ and _needed to let go_.

He only realized how silent the room had grown when Kirishima-san broke it with, "…So you lost someone too, huh." Not a question, just an _ah, birds of a feather_ , and Takafumi grimaced at the notion that his situation was remotely comparable to Kirishima-san's beyond the mere basics of grief and loss.

He shrugged to himself, staring down at the carpet guiltily before muttering, "Can you lose someone you never really had in the first place?"

* * *

Less out of necessity and more out of sheer artifice, they worked out ways to contrive more drinking sessions in Takafumi's apartment together in the weeks ahead. Kirishima-san didn't want to hope his father took another tumble or his mother came down with pneumonia while he was under a tight deadline, and Takafumi had well and truly missed the way alcohol and casual conversation with an acquaintance rounded out an evening nicely--so it worked out nicely for the both of them. Hiyori-chan, for her part, also seemed to take no issue with spending the night once a week or so at 'Fumi-sensei's house', and so they shared an unspoken agreement to set aside time--which for Kirishima-san often meant _making_ time--for a casual after-work drink together before turning in.

That the drinks were shared on Takafumi's living room couch rather than atop barstools under a haze of smoke did nothing to diminish the enjoyment derived--but it _did_ play a rather significant role in everything going to _shit_.

Kirishima-san hadn't spoken a word since arriving at Takafumi's apartment--particularly late despite the end of his cycle not being for another week. Takafumi didn't press the issue, simply sitting passively on the couch while Kirishima-san mutely poured drinks--a caramel-colored liquor much stronger than the beers they usually knocked back. He considered voicing protest--they both had to be at work in the morning, it was a weeknight, he couldn't go into work nursing a hangover the next morning--but something in the dark look to Kirishima-san's gaze stilled his tongue, and when a tumblr was pressed into his hands, he sipped at it hesitantly--worriedly--while Kirishima knocked his back in one gulp before immediately reaching for a refill.

That was the breaking point, though, and Takafumi snapped a hand out, gripping him tight about the wrist and forcing the bottle back to the table slowly. "Take it easy…" he warned, voice soft and careful like he'd cornered a wild animal--and the way Kirishima-san's jaw clenched, tight and trembling, it was difficult not to see him as such. He set his own glass, barely touched, down beside the bottle and tried to prise Kirishima-san's from his own grip. "You'll regret that in the morning."

"What else is new." 

Takafumi frowned; Kirishima-san was never this sharp, preferring to hide his emotions behind a charming mask with an easy smile--this dark, bitter emotion laced in his words was unfamiliar and discomfiting, and Takafumi felt his own mood darken as the atmosphere grew heavy between them. "…Would you like to talk about it?"

Kirishima-san snorted, pasting on a smile full of sharp teeth. "You gonna be my shrink now, Yokozawa? Want me to bare my soul to you, too? Want me to--" His breath hitched, and his resolve seemed to weaken, his gaze flickering from side to side as he licked his lips, wiping a hand over his face and settling back against the couch cushions with a sigh that turned into a moan at the end. 

Takafumi watched him in silence, brows furrowing in worry. "…Where's your ring?"

"The fuck do you care," he snapped miserably, voice muffled by the emotion in his throat--then he clenched his eyes shut tight and shook his head. "Shit--I…I didn't mean to…"

"It's fine," Takafumi assured softly, glancing away uncomfortably. "It wasn't my place to--"

"I can't find it." And _fuck_ he sounded so forlorn, so lost. Like he was going on 3 years old instead of 30. "I--I had it on this morning--I mean, I think I did? I think I remember seeing it? And--I went to touch it, out of habit, during a print-run decision meeting because I was bored and the assholes in sales were giving me shit about my numbers--" He shook his head, realizing he'd started off on a tangent. "It wasn't there. I didn't take it off--" His voice hardened here, like he was reminding himself of this fact. "--but I can't think of where it came off, and it could be anywhere, but there's no mark on it, and no one's turned anything in, so--"

His voice broke at the end, and he wiped his face again. There was a dark flush starting at his neck as he worked himself up, settling into a quiet, hissed litany of curses--and reached for the tumbler again, gaze hard as if daring Takafumi to try and stop him from his efforts to strike this day from his mind. As if the alcohol might make him forget he'd ever been married in the first place. 

But his fingers were trembling too strongly to get a grip on the glass, and he choked down a frustrated growl, muttering, "This is--such _shit_." And he didn't need to elaborate, because he was right. It was shit. Everything was--and it wasn't fair either. He hadn't deserved this final nail in the coffin; it was just a ring, just a little memento. Why did life or fate or the universe or _whatever_ have to kick this guy when he was already nearly six feet under as it was? What was the point?

And maybe Kirishima-san felt the same way, or maybe he couldn't hold his booze as well as he liked to boast--because his shoulders started heaving and his breath came in short little gasps as he pounded his knees in frustration, sobs powerful and choked as he fought to keep from breaking down--and it was beautiful and pitiful at the same time, how _fiercely_ he fought, even now, to keep his defenses up. Takafumi didn't know if he could tear his eyes away--or if he even wanted to.

"It's not fair, it's not," he murmured when it became apparent that Kirishima-san couldn't voice the words himself, apologizing in muted tones, "…I'm sorry, Kirishima-san." 

And then he rested one hand on the shoulder nearest to him to steady himself, reaching forward with the other to tip Kirishima-san's face his way, before he pressed his lips to Kirishima-san's, light and feathery and dry and trembling like a leaf. He didn't know what else to do--only that he couldn't sit there watching this, couldn't stand by and do nothing, and somehow this seemed more _right_ than a hug or a pat across the back or a suggestion to contact the station's lost-and-found.

Kirishima-san's chin was rough with a day's worth of growth, and his breath came in hitches when Takafumi released his lips, still close enough to feel breath upon skin--and dangerously close to trying it again. His brain finally caught up with what he'd just done, and his arms snapped out to his sides, wary of touching, as he attempted to fall back into the couch cushions and perhaps sink down there for the rest of eternity.

Why the hell--why the _fuck_ did he always wind up trying to do shit like this? What was it about seeing people he cared about--for whatever reason--vulnerable and needy and _desperate_ that triggered this reflexive urge inside his chest to give and give and give them things they never asked for and certainly wouldn't have wanted even if they'd been offered freely?

His voice caught in his throat, working around a lump, as he began to stammer an apology--but Kirishima-san's hands snapped up, fingers scrabbling at the base of his neck to crawl up and cradle his jaw, pressing their lips together again, this time with clear intent and pressure and _movement_ , sliding in and open and around as he tried to crawl _inside_ Takafumi, pressing him into the couch cushions and digging fingers into his skull in a desperate attempt for deeper contact.

Takafumi gasped, breath hitching in his throat when Kirishima-san shifted around, one leg slipping over Takafumi's to straddle him, broad chest looming over Takafumi's own and back arched in a lithe curve, whimpering against Takafumi's lips for reasons he didn't dare fathom right now, because it was too intense to--

" _Papa?_ "

Kirishima-san immediately snapped back, lips flushed and eyes wide in panic--but Hiyori's voice echoing through the apartment was muffled by a door and length of hallway, sparing them the embarrassment of having to explain their situation (which would have been a feat, as Takafumi suspected he was not the only one groping for words to describe what the fuck they'd just been doing). Kirishima-san's eyes darted around, as if actively searching the room for the voice he seemed to have lost. At length, he licked his lips and called out shakily, "I'll--be right there, Hiyo. Hold your horses." He took a deep breath before amending in a far more fatherly tone, sounding much less like a grade-schooler caught cutting class. "Aren't you supposed to be _asleep_ , young lady?" Her response was unintelligible, but the tone communicated her irritation at being reminded.

Takafumi released he breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding--and Kirishima-san relaxed the fingers that still gripped his jaw and neck tight, wiping sweaty palms on his pants as he eased off of the couch. Takafumi cleared his throat softly, licking his lips out of habit before tasting a unfamiliar note and realizing it was _Kirishima-san_ , heart skipping a beat in his chest. 

He couldn't bring himself to look the guy in the eye, instead opting to rub his hands over his face as pretense to keep from having to divine from Kirishima-san's expression just how they were going to treat what had just transpired. In the darkness of his sanctuary, hidden behind his palms, all he heard was a softly cursed," _Shit…_ " that sounded at once both horrified and awe-struck, accompanied by the fading sound of socked feet on his floor as Kirishima-san went to join his daughter in bed, leaving Takafumi alone on the couch to stew in silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Takafumi was granted a blissful few minutes of ignorance after waking, too sleep-addled to do more than fumble with his alarm and grope his way into the bathroom to relieve himself, and it wasn't until halfway through his shower that the events of the previous evening came rushing back--

_Kirishima-san broken and needy beside him_

_Kirishima-san's lips trembling and dry beneath his own_

_Kirishima-san's chest hard and warm and broad, stretching over him and pressing down, brushing against him with need and want and--_

" _Fuck!_ " he cursed, his hand absently brushing his half-hard member and shocking him back to reality. He made a fist and glared down at himself, almost of a mind to shake a finger at it and warn it against making any appearances where it wasn't wanted. And on the tail end of recalling a rather intense kiss with one of his charges' parents--a widower at that--was _definitely_ such an 'unwanted' place.

He resolutely ignored his body's plea for attention, instead scrambling to finish his morning ablutions and roughly patting himself down with a fresh towel from the cabinet over the toilet--and was pleased to see he'd managed to calm down substantially in both body and mind by the time he stepped back out into his bedroom, grateful for a few more moments of solitude as he struggled to collect himself. 

They hadn't spoken after the kiss--which meant Takafumi had _no earthly idea_ how to approach the incident. Ignore it? Get it out in the open and _then_ mutually agree to ignore it? Awkwardly navigate one another's moods with uncomfortable silences that eventually led to ignoring it? Far too many choices, to many possible routes to the eventual conclusion of _ignoring it_ , and Takafumi _hated_ not knowing what his next move was supposed to be; particularly when he wasn't the one in charge of that next move.

He sniffed the air tentatively as he tugged on an undershirt, his slacks hanging at his hips waiting to be buttoned and belted, and frowned--someone was cooking, and neither of his guests were skilled enough that he wanted to see them anywhere _near_ his kitchen. He hastily zipped up and tossed his towel in the hamper before flinging his door open, casting a worried glance at the ceiling as he half-expected to see dark smoke billowing into the living room.

As he approached, he could catch the muffled conversation of the Kirishimas--Hiyori-chan's bright, excited chatter interrupted periodically with Kirishima-san's softer, deeper tones. He hesitantly peeked around the corner--and found Kirishima-san poking at something in a fry pan while Hiyori-chan looked on inquisitively, up on her tiptoes on a high stool next to him.

"What…the heck is this?" he muttered, mostly to himself, but Kirishima-san caught the comment and directed a glance over his shoulder, brows lifting.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty."

Takafumi's brows furrowed in irritation, and he opened his mouth the respond--but was interrupted by Hiyori-chan, who jumped down from her stool with, "You slept forever, Fumi-sensei!"

He allowed himself to be ushered into the kitchen, keeping his focus on the girl rather than her father; it was much easier to keep his head that way. "It's barely 7 AM. And--" He directed his frown to Kirishima-san now, who'd gone back to tending whatever he was frying on Takafumi's stove, "--I thought you were all thumbs in the kitchen?"

"I am," Kirishima-san responded easily, the glance directed over his shoulder now decidedly more playful and teasing--Takafumi wasn't sure if this was just classic Kirishima-san, or if he should genuinely be wary of what had transpired the previous evening being turned back upon him. "So if you don't want me to burn your apartment down, you might want to get in here and help."

Takafumi was instantly at his side, shooing Kirishima-san out of the way to inspect the damage--remarkably little, he noted with relief--and tended to the fish sizzling away in the pan while Kirishima-san went to inspect the rice cooker, which presently beeped its completion.

So far, so good.

Hiyori-chan didn't seem too impressed with the rather savory breakfast, but it could hardly be helped; Takafumi hadn't been intending to serve the Kirishimas breakfast on such short notice and had been saving the fish for dinner later. He made a mental note to ensure she received a proper snack later at the center, and the three settled down for a silent, somber breakfast.

With their meal finished, Takafumi moved to clear the table--but Kirishima-san waved him off. "It's one of the few kitchen-related chores I can't screw up," he reminded, and after a moment's hesitation, still not entirely comfortable letting a guest do housework, Takafumi relented and made his way back to his room to finish readying himself for work, keeping one eye on Hiyori-chan as she attempted to brush her teeth on her own.

Was this how things would progress? Would they simply never speak of it? Was Kirishima-san just waiting for a free moment, when Hiyori-chan wasn't around to overhear, at which point he would apologize profusely--or else press Takafumi for an apology, because well, he _had_ been the one to instigate the whole thing in the first place (and was still trying to wrap his mind around what had come over him)?

Good grief, what _had_ that been? What was it about seeing people vulnerable and in pain that made him think _oh, I should fuck them better_?

Yes, it was a tragic situation the Kirishimas had found themselves in, and Takafumi was only too happy to help them through it as best he could--but that was _not_ the kind of 'aid' he had any business offering, and if Kirishima-san was going to be the bigger man and agree to put it out of sight, out of mind, then all the better.

* * *

And to Takafumi immense--and confusing, as he saw it--relief, everything _did_ seem to almost settle back into place, as if no kiss delivered out of pity had ever ruffled any feathers or shaken any foundations. Kirishima-san managed to pick his daughter up some nights, drafted his mother on others, or relied upon Takafumi's good graces on still others, with the same erratic frequency as before.

When Kirishima-san had suggested one evening in the genkan, Hiyori-chan practically thrown over his shoulder and out like a light, that they share a drink again soon, Takafumi had agreed before his mind had caught up with him, reminding him of what had happened the last time they'd just 'had a drink'--but by then, it was far too late to turn down the invitation without his reasons being called into question, and hadn't this silent stalemate meant they weren't _going_ to talk about it?

But his fears turned out to be for naught, and drinking with Kirishima-san had turned out to _really_ just be 'drinking with Kirishima-san', fewer sob stories about lost jewelry and more good-natured bitching about work cronies and unruly mangaka. With the pleasant buzz of alcohol in his system and someone he could at least term an acquaintance sitting next to him--it was almost like college again, and this went a ways toward pushing the out-of-line kiss further and further from his mind.

So far--that he never saw the second one coming until it was too late.

He struggled, like he was drowning, groping for a handle on the situation--Hiyori-chan had been picked up by her grandmother earlier, unusual for this late in the cycle, but Takafumi had supposed that schedules had meshed nicely this month, and with Kirishima-san sure to take most of the night to see his manuscripts off to the printers, he'd picked up a rather bland pasta bentou from the nearest convenience store and settled in to clear his DVR of some back episodes of a drama he'd meant to watch at some point. Dinner had been middling, though, and the drama mediocre, and so it had been with a bitter taste in his mouth that he'd decided to make an early night of it--

\--until insistent leaning on his doorbell had cut short those plans, door opening to reveal Kirishima-san waving a plastic bag (chuuhi; hardly the 'strong stuff') with one brow quirked as he waited to be invited inside.

In retrospect, Takafumi should have shut the door right back again at that moment--but he hadn't, had instead relieved Kirishima-san of his burden, frowning when he'd realized the guy had managed to pick his favorite flavor, and ushered him into the living room. Pleasantries had been exchanged, seats on the couch had been offered, tabs had been popped, and then--before Takafumi had even brought the can to his lips--Kirishima-san had reached over, fingers brushing Takafumi's own almost on _purpose_ , and gently pulled the can from his grip with a soft, _ah ah ah_.

Takafumi's brows had furrowed in confusion. "What're you--"

"I'm sorry," he'd just apologized, grin wry and quirking up on one side higher than it ought to, equal parts mischievous and apologetic, "Just didn't know how else to get you to let me in."

Takafumi hadn't understood, head cocking to the side, and he'd stubbornly tried for the can again, lunging to reach where Kirishima-san held it just out of his grasp, tempting--and in short order found Kirishima-san's lips flush against his own as he dipped in, quick and fast to place himself in Takafumi's space, there with _purpose_ and _intent_ this time. He'd opened his mouth to inhale sharply, and Kirishima-san had brought his free hand up to steady Takafumi at the neck, guiding their mouths together more seamlessly, slow and purposeful, like docking a boat. The can had dropped--clanging to the floor flat on its bottom--and been promptly forgotten.

His mind was all over the place now--desperately groping for rhyme and reason and finding none. It had been _weeks_ since the incident, half a dozen nights of _nothing_ spent in purely platonic alcoholic enjoyment, two guys having a beer after work and complaining about their days. Kirishima-san hadn't lifted a _finger_ against him, hadn't so much as breathed a _so about the other night…_ and now-- _now_ he chose to act on it? Now, for no reason whatsoever, he opted to rock the boat of their friendship again with _this_? Takafumi tucked his arms against his body, struggling to brace them against Kirishima-san's shoulders, and with effort, he managed to place enough space between them to gather his thoughts, voice rough and grating over swollen lips, "What…the hell are you doing?"

Kirishima-san just smiled that infuriating _quirky_ thing he did. "What's it look like? You're a smart guy--figure it out."

He leaned in again to get back to the making out--but Takafumi managed to slip a hand over Kirishima-san's mouth, pressing firmly with, "I know what the hell it _looks_ like, I'm just-- _fuck_!" He jerked his hand away like he'd been burned, wiping his palm on his shirt where Kirishima-san had had the gall to _lick_ him. "Disgusting asshole…" he grumbled, trying to sink further into the cushions and in real danger of falling over onto his back--which would be a compromising position for so many reasons.

"You've had my tongue halfway down your throat twice in the past month, and _that_ was disgusting?" Kirishima-san snorted, pulling one knee up to support himself as he shifted further onto the couch, uncomfortably close to Takafumi. His cheeks had a light flush to them and his lips were pink and full--but he showed no other evidence of being the least bit ruffled by what had just transpired. "You're a weird guy, Yokozawa."

"Not something I want to hear coming from you."

"Then let's not talk." And before Takafumi could protest that no, no they _really_ needed to talk, because talking was the only path to cooler heads--he pressed in again, tongue-first this time and both hands gripping Takafumi by the shoulders before sliding down his chest, palming circles over his pectorals in sweeping motions. Takafumi let out an unconscious moan at the sensation--it was so warm and insistent, and Kirishima-san was a _good_ kisser even if he wasn't the most consensual, and this was a lot more pleasant buzz to the brain than the booze could have provided, so they should just--

"Shit--no--dammit, _stop_ \--" He managed to wedge his hands in between them again, and Kirishima-san pulled back, but only just so, far enough that they weren't quite kissing, but any false moves and they _would be_ again soon. Takafumi swallowed thickly, wishing there were more space between them, but Kirishima-san didn't seem in a giving mood, so he just closed his eyes and pretended. "I don't…know why you're doing this, but--"

"You did it to me first," was the voice in the darkness behind his eyelids, and it was low and rough and _right_ by his face, breath humid and warm over his skin. 

"I…yeah. Yeah I did." He paused, hating the way his voice sounded just now. Everything came out like a _come-on_ with the tone it had taken on. "I'm sorry. For that."

"Nn…then why'd you do it in the first place?"

"I…don't know," he answered truthfully, because it didn't make sense. Masamune hadn't needed his pity, and neither had Kirishima-san, but he'd still given them the only thing of any worth he had to offer, and how the hell that was supposed to make things better was beyond him, so he had to sit here stewing in his ignorance and confusion wondering when and with whom he'd make the same mistake again. 

"Let's find out then." Kirishima's lips were right by his ear now, breath almost ticklish as it issued forth, and Takafumi shuddered, cocking his head to the side to ease Kirishima away--but instead they met with lips again, and Takafumi groaned in defeat, fingers scrabbling up and over Kirishima-san's chest to grip at his shoulders with knuckles white where he clenched the fabric.

Kirishima-san shifted on the couch, adopting that same position as before, and for everything that was _just like_ the last time--the overwhelming sensations, the insistent swelling in his pants, the emptiness he felt when Kirishima-san pulled his tongue back before sweeping in again, the _sounds_ Kirishima-san was making that said he was very much on board with this and Takafumi should strongly consider giving in--one point of difference shone bright: Hiyori-chan wasn't here tonight. 

There would be no insistent calls for Kirishima-san to join his daughter in bed, no little feet shuffling over the hardwood floors sluggishly as she headed for the bathroom. The only thing stopping him from _doing this_ with this man were his own hang-ups.

And that was more than enough.

Kirishima-san's fingers had dipped down, sensitive pads dragging over the thin fabric covering Takafumi's crotch from root to tip along the outline forming with ever starker contrast as Takafumi felt himself begin to give in to Kirishima-san's insistent attentions. His hips jerked forward, following the fingers as they pulled away, and he felt before he heard the deep, genuine chuckles starting inside Kirishima-san's chest. "Horny thing, aren't you?"

He wasn't--he _wasn't_ , had never been one to lose control of himself in that sense, but with someone getting all handsy down there, he could hardly be blamed, and he opened his mouth to snarl as such, when Kirishima-san of a sudden tugged down the hem of his loungewear and gripped him directly, giving a soft but insistent squeeze to be sure Takafumi understood the precipice they stood upon.

"You're hard," he marveled, pulling back to take in Takafumi's expression--and while certainly any healthy man could be expected to have sprouted an erection after a few minutes making out while someone palmed him through his pants, Takafumi was embarrassingly conscious of the fact that he'd already been stiff as a board well before Kirishima-san's attentions had dipped below the waistline. 

He wanted to snap back with something witty, like _you're one to talk_ , but he really couldn't tell, honestly, and that fact annoyingly irritated. He didn't want to be the only one desperate here, didn't want to be the only one at the mercy of another here--but he equally didn't want this happening _at all_ (except for the part where he really kind of did). The worst kind of conundrum ever--and Kirishima-san blessedly relieved him of any need to confirm for himself by shifting on the cushions to drag his groin over Takafumi's thigh, rutting against him with the sensation became too much to ignore. "Think I am too…"

'Thinking' was being generous--it was quite obvious he was just as bad off as Takafumi, and his fingers twitched to reach out and do something about it, eyes dark and fixated hungrily where Kirishima-san rubbed himself against Takafumi. "Fuck…" he cursed, a million different needs and wants imbued in a single word, and Kirishima-san chuckled softly, reaching to tip Takafumi's head up a hair to slide their lips together again while he used his free hand to guide Takafumi to cup him, showing just how he liked to be palmed.

It had been years since he'd touched a cock that wasn't his own (and even that, he never felt the need to indulge in too often)--but his fingers remembered what to do and went about their task with more enthusiasm than Kirishima-san seemed to have been expecting, for his hips jolted, lifting up and thrusting forward to offer an easier angle for gripping, and he gasped audibly into Takafumi's mouth. " _Shit_ , Takafumi…"

And his fingers went numb, hand going limp as his arm fell away. Kirishima-san grunted, audibly irritated at the loss of sensation, but Takafumi paid him no heed--bracing both hands between them again and easing Kirishima-san off of him with less anger but just as much force. He stared down, seeing nothing, and swallowed thickly before apologizing, "…I'm sorry."

Kirishima-san was still panting, trying to determine why they'd ceased all of their touching and stroking. "Wha…?" was his stupid response, and Takafumi clenched his jaw, pushing Kirishima-san off of himself entirely and shifting upright again as he wiped a hand over his face.

"I'm--sorry, I just, I can't--" He shook his head, trying to jolt his thoughts into place. He didn't really know why he _couldn't_ (or didn't really want to think about it just now), only that his erection was already flagging, the lightness in his stomach turning to a heavy iron pit that weighed him down, and that Kirishima-san's taste in his mouth was sickly sweet with a bitter note, like rotten fruit. He felt ill. He hung his head, elbows resting on his knees, and clenched his eyes shut. "I'm sorry, really--I'm s--"

"It's fine," came the easy assurance, none of the confusion or barely repressed desire evident in his voice now, and Takafumi was grateful for that but kept his eyes closed tight, sure that all of the emotion had just shifted to Kirishima-san's expression, and if they locked eyes, he'd see reproach and irritation and _the fuck is your problem?_ "Nothing to be sorry for."

And Takafumi was sure there was at least _one_ thing to be sorry for--just because he couldn't get it up didn't mean Kirishima-san was having the same issues--but they still left it unspoken between them, and with a comforting squeeze to his shoulder, Kirishima-san shifted off the couch, up onto his feet. "…I'll see myself out."

The sound of the door opening and closing mere moments later echoed more than it should through Takafumi's empty apartment. He felt like utter _shit_ , and he didn't understand why.

He waited, breath held, for several long beats, ears straining for any sounds, half-expecting Kirishima-san to turn around, to storm back in, to shove him back down on the couch and demand an explanation. He even had the wild, ecstatic thought that if Kirishima-san pushed him, if he demanded some sort of recompense, he might give in. Might latch on to _he's making me do this_ like a liferaft to float free of whatever these twisted feelings were.

But Kirishima-san didn't return, and when Takafumi lifted his head again, the room as the same as it had been--open but full-to-the-brim cans of chuuhi staring back at him accusingly. 

Hey, it wasn't _his_ fault they'd never gotten around to drinking them.

He winced as he bent down to pick up the can they'd dropped earlier--relieved it hadn't been knocked over (he had enough messes to clean up now). He wasn't hard anymore, hadn't been up for anything like what Kirishima-san had probably been expecting--but it was still uncomfortable, and he stared down at his crotch in indecision before eventually opting to just ignore it, maybe take a cool shower before he turned in.

He was too scared at this point of what he might jerk off to if he let himself find some relief by his own hand.

Lunging like a man dying of thirst who'd just found an oasis, he reached for his cell phone, perched innocuously on the edge of the table and flipped it open, drawing up his call history with trembling fingers before bringing the device to his ear, closing his eyes and praying.

-click- / _What do you want?_ / Masamune's voice was short, clipped--but a welcome, familiar balm.

Takafumi licked his lips. "Ah--no, just--I thought, maybe you wanted to come by and see Sora--"

/ _I'm with someone--call back tomorrow; we'll set something up._ / -click-

The phone fell away from his ear slowly, and he stared, dumbfounded, at the call-time. He hadn't known it was possible to feel even more like shit than he already did…but he'd somehow managed it, regardless.


	5. Chapter 5

In the weeks that followed the debacle that was Kirishima-san's apparently failed attempt at seduction (and Takafumi's embarrassing inability to meet his challenge), they both seemed to adopt, by mutual agreement, a line of not speaking of the incident. Kirishima-san melted back into his 'charming father' routine, pasting on his roguish charm and working it to the delight of his daughter at every opportunity, but never once stepping over the bounds of propriety.

Takafumi, however, despite experiencing initial relief that they would never have to address what had happened, eventually found the charade taxing, each interaction a pricking reminder that there lay unfinished business between the pair--business they would have to resolve eventually if they ever hoped to regain some of their former camaraderie.

But such resolutions were hamstrung at every opportunity, as Kirishima-san was always quick to swoop in and pick up Hiyori-chan before rushing out the door again with a quirk of his brow and a hasty _thanks for feeding her_. Gone were the comfortable silences enjoyed as they sat at the table, just the two of them, while Kirishima-san wolfed down leftovers. No more was the genuinely enjoyable banter back and forth as they lost themselves in cans of beer discussing one of Kirishima-san's more memorable close calls with a deadline. 

He wanted to apologize, wanted to settle things properly--Kirishima-san just didn't seem intent on giving him the chance, and Takafumi realized with the passage of time that he had, once again, irreparably damaged what could have been a rewarding, close relationship with his foolish insistence on using intimacy to soothe emotional aches.

It was almost laughable; his libido was next to nihil, and yet put him in a room with someone he cared for, render them emotionally vulnerable, and he was all but mounting them before one could blink.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, the knowledge that he was once again to be left to his own devices as far as finding companionship--and this in itself grated all the more, for why should he be so concerned about losing Kirishima-san as a glorified drinking buddy? They got along reasonably well and shared a similar taste for alcohol and undemanding after-dinner conversation over a couple of beers. They hadn't traded vows, there was nothing overly _special_ to their relationship--so _why_?

Why was the steadily growing gulf between them, placing them firmly back in their society-appointed roles of customer and employee, so difficult to accept? The loss of a potential companion and what had seemed a good fit, personality-wise, was unfortunate, to be sure--but to cause _this_ much grief? _This_ much discomfort, bordering on pain?

He'd tried to fill the void, once or twice, with calls to Takano out of the blue--and he would laugh, years later, to think of _Takano_ now being the one he used to fill some void, rather than anything and everything else serving as little more than distraction from Takano himself--but these days it seemed the man was always busy with finishing a chapter draft or meeting with his uptight managing editor or some other such business, if he bothered to pick up his phone at all. He tried to remember the last time they'd had drinks together, just the two of them, for no reason whatsoever other than that they missed one another's company…and failed.

_"You know,"_ Takano had suggested on one of the rare occasions Takafumi had managed to catch him, irritation at being rejected once again in favor of coffee with "Onodera" (to discuss an upcoming arc in his novel, ostensibly) evident in Takafumi's voice, _"My offer from before still stands."_

"Offer?" Takafumi had parroted back, trying to remember when the conversation had even taken place.

_"I've got plenty of 'leftovers' you're welcome to."_ The smile in his voice had been genuine, and like salt to the wound, it seared in its sincerity. He'd wondered if Takano said these things on purpose--then decided he really didn't want to know.

He had declined the uncouth offer, and they'd traded promises to meet up soon, which they both know they would neither one of them keep. The conversation left nothing but bitterness and a sour grimace on Takafumi's features, as most calls to Takano did these days, and left him feeling worse off than he had before drawing the guy's name up in his call history. 

Takano was unavailable--in more ways than one--and would not be prising Takafumi for drinks any time soon, he suspected. That chapter was closed--for now--and he was left with little recourse but to start drafting a new arc all on his own. There was a void that needed filling, an emptiness that begged for distraction in the form of sharp wit, a teasing smile, and lots and lots of alcohol to ease it all along. If he could not get that from Takano, he had no choice but to seek it elsewhere. Consequences and pride be damned.

* * *

Kirishima-san choked rather dramatically on the beer he'd been halfway through, fingers clenching the can so hard as he tried to recover his breath that the soft aluminum began to buckle in his grip. "Wh--what the fuck did you just…?"

Takafumi cut him a sharp glare--Hiyori-chan was asleep in his bed just down the short hallway, and it wouldn't do for her to wake again. Not when he'd finally worked himself up to this.

All in all, he had to admit it was kind of underhanded of him. Putting Hiyori-chan to bed early even though he knew Kirishima-san would be coming by to pick her up, tempting the guy in with a drink--all insistent, persistent gazes and pursed lips to impress upon Kirishima-san that he _needed_ to give in, to agree to this, even though having a drink, even just one, meant he wasn't going to be heading back to his own place that evening. The look on his face had been testament enough to just how much Kirishima-san hadn't _wanted_ to be here, sitting on Takafumi's couch and knocking back a light beer; Takafumi ought to know, as it was a look he himself had worn before: the one that spoke of panic just below the surface, wanting out and away and somewhere that was not here, with this person, because he wasn't ready to deal with whatever was about to happen.

But Takafumi had been relentless in his insistence, had even taken Kirishima-san by the wrist preemptively and tugged, not hard, but enough to let him know that he really didn't have any choice in the matter, that he needed to do as he was asked and get this over with. Like ripping a bandaid off.

Takafumi snorted into the lip of his can, knocking back his head to finish off the contents. "Surely you're not so old your hearing's going already, Kirishima-san." He grimaced as the dregs washed down his throat; the last sip was always the worst. "But if you want me to say it again--"

"Say it again," was the hurried, whispered reply, and he glanced over out of the corner of his eye to find Kirishima-san's gaze trained on him, wide and disbelieving, and under any other circumstance, he'd balk at saying something so utterly demeaning, embarrassing--but just right now, he had the upper hand, and it was clear the words unsettled this usually unflappable man, so he indulged.

"I said, we should be fuckbuddies." Kirishima-san made a sound, and Takafumi didn't doubt that if he'd taken another sip of his beer, he would have choked on it all over again. "Breathe, would you?"

"I'm breathing," Kirishima-san reminded, a note of irritation in his voice, but he quickly covered it up with his usual cool demeanor, obviously working double-time to put up that facade again. He cleared his throat and set the can aside. "But you can't blame me for being a little caught off-guard."

Takafumi shrugged. "I had shit to work through; I'm here now, aren't I?"

"That you are…" he allowed, then fixed Takafumi with a strange expression. "…Mind if I ask why the change of heart?" He licked his lips, laughing in a chagrined manner as he let his gaze drop. "I mean--I know I came on…kind of strong, but you made it pretty clear..."

Takafumi was glad he'd glanced away; he didn't want Kirishima-san questioning the look on his face as he struggled to remember why he was doing this in the first place. It was difficult, feigning apathy. "You can’t be with the person you really want, and I can’t be with the person I really want--so if we both have to get kneed in the balls by life, we may as well make the best of it...I suppose." It helped, of course, that Kirishima-san wasn't _un_ attractive, for a guy pushing 30, and if they wanted to be able to go back to the way things were, to be able to drink together without this hovering over their heads, they needed to not be awkward around one another--so they might as well get it all out in the open. He settled back against the couch, keeping his gaze resolutely averted. "If you want to screw, we can screw. If you want to talk, we can talk. If you don't want anything to do with me…that's fine too, I guess. Not like I'm any worse off for it."

Kirishima-san had the gall to _snort_ beside him, laughter barely restrained, and when Takafumi jerked his gaze over, he was met with a quirked smile--shit, he'd actually missed that--and a raised brow. "…God, that had to have been the _least_ sexy seduction I’ve ever received."

Takafumi bristled, jaw clenched. "I'm not sed--dammit, take it or leave it!"

"I'll take it--" he reassured, shifting around on the couched to place his hands against the cushion on either side of Takafumi's head, hemming him in just like before, as if daring him to try and escape again. "I'll…definitely take it."

Takafumi swallowed, mouth suddenly very dry, and felt panic start to grip his heart--because Kirishima-san was too close and too eager and he still hadn't committed fully to this exercise so _why_ did this guy have to be so on-board with it, with barely even a moment's consideration? When Kirishima-san's eyes flicked down to his lips, grin turning almost feral, Takafumi added gruffly, "…This isn't a relationship, you know." And Kirishima-san didn't respond verbally, but this got his attention and _quick_ , eyes glinting with something almost challenging. "I'm not saying let's be in love or any of that girly manga crap you deal with--"

"I'm in shounen manga."

"Whatever. Just--it's just sex. That's it."

And if he thought this would put Kirishima-san off, he was sorely mistaken, for the quirk to his lips curled into something devious, and he shook his head. "Yokozawa, you…"

" _What?_ " he snapped peevishly.

The grin faded into something a bit more genuine, making him look years younger than he likely was. "…Nothing. You're just kind of amazing, I'm starting to realize." Takafumi's features must have twisted into an expression that said he _clearly_ hadn't taken this as a compliment, and Kirishima-san snorted in bemusement before pressing in quick and silent to brush his lips over Takafumi's cheek on his way to rest just below his ear and whisper, "I want to jerk you off."

It was a good thing Takafumi was wearing rather loose-fitting pants just now--because it would've been frankly embarrassing how quickly he grew hard at this suggestion. Granted, the whole situation was pretty damn shameful, as fuckbuddy relationships went, but to show his age and greenness _this_ clearly, cock snapping to attention at the mere suggestion of sexual favors was…well, not something Takafumi wanted Kirishima-san lording over him in the future should they really go through with this.

He'd half expected the guy to just throw him down on the couch right then, restraint be damned--and had admittedly, shamefully, come prepared, a fresh pack of condoms and travel-size tube of gel stowed in the drawer of the low-sitting table before them--and perhaps Kirishima-san figured he'd wonder at the suggestion, or maybe he was just reminding himself, for he added more seriously, "We've both got work in the morning--and I honestly don't feel like stripping down with my light-sleeper daughter a room away."

Takafumi went stiff in a completely different way now, an uneasy shudder at the reminder shivering through him, and he nodded shortly. "F--fine, whatever."

Kirishima-san chuckled at the reaction, mistaking his pithy response for irritation and disappointment. "Don't worry, I promise to pound you into your mattress at the first given opportunity." His breath tickled the ear, and Takafumi slapped a hand up reflexively. On second thought, perhaps it was less a mistake and more deliberate ignorance. 

He twisted away and fixed a murderous glare on the man, unthinkingly snapping, "We'll see who fucks who," and instantly wishing he'd paused to give more thought to his response. It was a miracle he didn't let the regret show on his features, at least.

If he'd thought Kirishima-san's shit-eating grin couldn't get any bigger, he found himself sorely mistaken. "I suppose we _will_ have to see…" he murmured, marveling, before shifting his weight to straddle Takafumi's lap in much the same position they'd found themselves in before. But this time, there would be no Hiyori-chan interrupting them, no Takano rearing his head in the back of Takafumi's mind at the last desperate moment, reminding him who he'd rather have desperate and hard before him. He'd take what he could get right now--just like Kirishima-san was. He'd enjoy it for what it was, and ignore what it wasn't. Because that was the only way they could either one of them bear being stuck in this rut.

Kirishima-san's forehead came to rest against his own, their noses almost brushing, but he didn't try for another kiss, and Takafumi wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed in this. He turned his focus downward, watching Kirishima-san's long, nimble fingers make swift work of their flies, zips hissing down and flaps being pressed back as Kirishima-san palmed him through his underwear. Takafumi released a labored gasp, trying to keep his eyes from flaring wide, because he didn't want to seem so green, so untried. Not before someone like Kirishima-san who seemed starved for reasons to tease. 

Before the guy could make some clever quip about Takafumi's reaction, he swallowed and reached his own hand forward, fingers tracing the outline of a sizable bulge before dipping down to palm the balls and pressing, palm-first, against the whole package. The audible, voiced gasp he received in response let him know he'd been successful in diverting attention. "Shit, Yokozawa…"

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Asshole," he laughed wryly. "I meant you had balls--just diving straight in." He gave Takafumi a meaningful squeeze, adding, "And I should know about any balls you may or may not have." His eyes fluttered closed as he executed a soft roll of his hips, pressing in to meet Takafumi's grip more keenly, and he moaned voicelessly. "But feel free to give me something to flatter you about, if the mood strikes you."

Takafumi snorted--the guy was going to be mouthy in bed, that much was obvious. He _hated_ that, didn't like commentary on his technique or critique on the style, pace, or rhythm he chose to bed another with--but it was clear he was going to have to put up with it, in this case, and he doubted Kirishima-san would be gentle with his words. Two could play that game, though, he reminded himself, and he snapped his free hand down to cover Kirishima-san's, guiding his fingers just how he liked to be palmed and gruffly returning, "Less talking, more jerking me off." He cocked his head to the side, leaning in and brushing their lips lightly together, executing a teasing flick of his tongue. "That _is_ what you said you wanted to do, right…?" When Kirishima-san had no cocky response to this, he added, "Or if you can't restrain yourself, I'd be happy to give your mouth something else to occupy itself with."

"Fuuuuck…" Kirishima-san groaned around a smile, "Don't do this to me _tonight_ , dammit…" Why tonight should be different from other nights was beyond Takafumi--but it got the job done, and Kirishima-san fell silent save for the occasional gasp and half-stifled moan as he eased the stiff cock out of Takafumi's underwear and into the open, his only response to the bead of precum already seeping from the head a subtle lick of his lips. Takafumi found himself wanting to _watch_ , enthralled with the expressions and the subtle flush to his cheeks, but was reminded shortly that this was a two-man job and that Kirishima-san deserved a bit of relief as well. Especially since Takafumi had turned him out so abruptly last time.

Kirishima-san wasn't hard, not fully, when he tugged down the hem of the underwear to expose the cock beneath, but after a quick swipe of his tongue over the palm and a deep breath, Takafumi soon had him well on his way to a handsome erection, marveling at his handiwork as the staff grew stiff with blood and fell heavy and warm in his palm when he formed a ring with his fingers and began his work in earnest. 

Kirishima-san lifted up onto his knees after executing a patently unintentional thrust, and Takafumi had to ease him back down, as if soothing a wild animal, "You'll give yourself a cramp trying to reach me from that angle, Kirishima-san…" he chided softly.

The man complied wordlessly with a nod, slowly settling back onto the tops of Takafumi's thighs--but what he said next was rather unexpected. "You know…" he offered nonchalantly, breath coming a bit more raggedly than his cool demeanor belied, "You can call me his name. If you want."

Takafumi shot him a look, bemused at the unconventional offer, but betrayed nothing of how shaken he was inside. "…And what makes you so sure it's a man?" Kirishima-san shrugged, as if to say _just figured_ , and Takafumi returned superiorly, "Well I'm not gonna let you call me your wife's name, just so we're clear."

A soft, amused snort, "I'm not doing this because I want you to replace her, idiot." And here, Takafumi's expression frosted over, wariness sharp and prickling; this only worked if it was just physical, enough to break the tension between them so that they could go back to being friends, drinking acquaintances. "I don't exactly have time for a thriving sex life, even if I _were_ up to dating again--" which implied he wasn't, and this reassurance relieved Takafumi immeasurably. He didn't want to be a dead wife's replacement; he didn't want to be Kirishima-san's _anything_ other than a warm body to rut against. "It just works out," he finished simply, then cocked a brow at Takafumi. "You're a guy; I'm sure you can understand that sometimes…you just want to go through the motions without the baggage, right?"

Takafumi pursed his lips, grunting his agreement, and quickly distracted himself by returning his focus to the task quite literally at hand. Kirishima-san gasped sharply, glancing down to watch Takafumi take him in hand, fingers wrapped around a thick shaft and pumping him slowly, methodically, with purpose. A soft, "Oi," called the man back to his own role, and he licked his lips before mimicking Takafumi's movements, gently tugging the shaft in his hand to erection where it had flagged in the wake of their conversation. 

Their hands otherwise occupied, Kirishima-san tried to duck in a few times for a kiss--and Takafumi found himself balking at the notion, convinced deep down that it was treading a bit too close to something you were supposed to do with a lover. But he quickly reminded himself of how ridiculous it was to somehow place kissing above jerking someone off, and after recalling how very _good_ Kirishima-san was with his lips (when they weren't flapping about needlessly), he huffed in irritation and brought his free hand up to grab Kirishima-san roughly by the chin, tugging him forward and slotting their lips together, trusting the guy could take over from there. 

He did, with vigor.

The kisses worked to muffle any sounds they made as well, and Takafumi permitted himself to be a bit more vocal than he otherwise might, giving in to Kirishima-san's disturbingly excellent manual dexterity--was he seriously straight? He couldn't be; not to be this good at jerking someone off, not to be this _eager_ to touch another guy--and trying to keep pace with his own strokes, taking it as a personal challenge to get the man off before he peaked himself. His arm was starting to ache with the repetitive motions, grip sliding slick and smooth up and over the head and back down again with just enough pressure to make up for the fact that they were both settling for handjobs tonight. He could feel in the tremble of Kirishima-san's hips just how much the guy wanted to thrust into his hand, and he was starting to develop a grudging respect for his restraint--but in the same breath, he was also cramping up now and really wanted to get off himself; they needed to end this.

He looped his forearm around Kirishima-san's neck, tugging him closer and deepening the kiss as he ratcheted up the intensity of his strokes, whispering hot and heavy against the lips beneath his own, "You'd better not get any on my couch, got it?"

Kirishima-san responded with another scorching kiss, all tongue and sucking the life out of Takafumi, and a twist of his wrist on the upstroke had him shortly regretting the comment, as he softly gasped his release, spurting dribbling ribbons over Kirishima-san's fingers, which continued to gently milk him dry with slowing strokes to match his cooling libido. 

When Takafumi's release distracted him from his own attentions, Kirishima-san took the opportunity to do what he'd apparently been wanting to from the moment Takafumi had touched him, and he shifted his weight to thrust, fast and shallow, into the tunnel his hand made, desperately rubbing himself at an angle with increasing intensity until he clenched his fingers tight in Takafumi's shirt and cried out into a kiss, muffling his announcement of his climax between them. Takafumi's hand and pants were a mess--but at least the couch and floor had been spared, as requested.

A few long, silent moments passed, the only sounds in the room their heavy, labored breathing slowly dwindling back down to normal. Takafumi was the first to pull away from the kiss they'd paused in the middle of, releasing Kirishima-san's lips with a soft _smack_ and licking himself where he'd gone chapped and dry. "…You can have the bathroom first to clean up; I trust you can find your way to the bedroom fine?"

Kirishima-san sat there blankly, evidently still in a post-orgasmic haze, before nodding dumbly and shifting up and onto two feet, rather unsteady and with his reddened cock still hanging half out of his underwear. He noticed his state of disarray when Takafumi snorted inelegantly, then frowned and tucked himself back inside. "Guess we'll be taking advantage of your hospitality again tonight, then."

"Mm," Takafumi agreed, settling back onto the couch and closing his eyes to doze for a few moments as he robotically stuffed himself back into his underwear. "Give me a shake when you're done."

"Shit," Kirishima-san cursed from the doorway, and Takafumi lifted his head, curious. Kirishima-san waved him off, "Nothing--just realized now I've got to get up early and drive back home. I'll catch hell from my subordinates if I show up wearing the same thing I was in yesterday. Especially if it's covered in…" He frowned, glancing down at the hem of his shirt, where Takafumi had spurted an eye-catching dark stain.

He grinned to himself, despite the absurdity of the situation, system still flooded with endorphins and not eager to let the sensation be replaced by the cold discomfort that would quickly rush back in, reminding him that he was not Kirishima-san's wife and Kirishima-san was not _Masamune_. "Wouldn't have happened if you'd done as I suggested."

"As you suggested?" he parroted back, curious.

Eyes still closed, Takafumi silently pointed to his mouth, and then to his crotch, grin growing almost _goofy_ when all Kirishima-san returned him was a harsh bark of laughter which he quickly stifled before rushing off to the bathroom to wash up.


	6. Chapter 6

Kirishima-san--and Hiyori-chan with him--was gone by the time Takafumi roused the next morning, a fact he found curious mostly because he'd been relegated to the couch while his guests took the bed, as was customary when he let the Kirishimas stay over, and they would have had to bypass him on their way out the door to head back to their own home to shower and ready for work and school. That he hadn't roused despite their bustling about his apartment suggested they'd either taken great care not to wake him, or he'd been so utterly exhausted he hadn't even noticed. Abject refusal to dwell overly long on why he might have been more tired than usual (it was _just_ a handjob) forced him to assume the former.

He ducked his head down under the shower stream, letting water pelt his face in the hopes it might wake him more thoroughly, then wiped a hand over his face and blinked several times. He was starting to feel like a proper human being, now that he'd had a shower and could get into clean clothes. He'd only been able to rummage up a pair of clean--if wrinkled--boxers after the previous evening and wound up having to diligently wipe his shirt hem clean of the evidence of what he and Kirishima-san had done. He could have retrieved fresh bedclothes from his bedroom, sure--but that would have required facing Kirishima-san again, and he'd decided he was going to need a good night's sleep before he could bring himself to do just that.

Now, though, he was starting to feel a bit more refreshed and, surprisingly enough, _not_ like he usually felt after spending the night on his couch. A tiny voice reminded him that really only one thing differed between last night and the previous half a dozen or so times Kirishima-san had stayed over, requisitioning his bed with his daughter, but Takafumi resolutely ignored it. The last thing he needed filling his thoughts when he was about to spend the day surrounded by children was Kirishima-san, straddling him and filling his vision with a broad flat chest and charming smile, one hand gripped tight and tugging insistently on his cock and the other braced against his neck, fingers playing in the hair just behind Takafumi's ear as he let his jaw drop open and slipped a pink tongue between Takafumi's lips to deepen a kiss that was already leaving him weak-kneed--

" _Fuck_ ," he cursed, glancing down in disappointment when his cock twitched in memory. He wanted to shake a finger at it and remind it that last night would have to suffice for a while yet--Kirishima-san's cycle was winding down, and he wouldn't be dropping by for another week or so, probably. And that was assuming the previous evening hadn't disillusioned him. A straight widower getting a handjob from a willing warm body hardly meant he'd be eager to repeat the experience, and had the tables been turned, Takafumi wasn't so very sure he wouldn't have cut ties with the guy altogether by this point.

He robotically went through the motions of dressing, grabbing an energy gelatin pack from his fridge and ignoring the voice in his mind that somehow sounded like both his mother and Kirishima-san at the same time warning him that that hardly constituted a proper breakfast, and heading out the door.

* * *

"Yokozawa-sensei? Hiyori-chan's grandmother's in the lobby, here to pick her up."

Takafumi glanced up, blinking in confusion, and he released a stupid, "…Huh?" before he could help himself--but his reaction was overshadowed by Hiyori-chan's own squeal of delight. She leapt to her feet, immediately abandoning the picture book she'd been 'reading' to Takafumi, her own rendition of the story far more entertaining than the actual content on the page.

Takafumi shifted to his feet, watching Hiyori gather her things with a wry smile before turning to the coworker who'd alerted them to the woman waiting to pick up Hiyori. "I didn't hear anything about this…"

A shrug. "It seems Kirishima-san had already called in earlier to clear it with the staff; perhaps he couldn't make it this evening to greet her himself?" That was certainly nothing new, Takafumi had to admit--especially since tonight was the tail end of a cycle. Kirishima-san would be lucky to make it out of the office before trains started running again the next morning. But he hadn't head anything from the guy about his mother dropping by to pick up Hiyori-chan, and while this was hardly a big deal or put any sort of kink in his plans, it was…out of the ordinary. Unexpected.

And, he instantly realized with a lead weight in his stomach, probably _all his fault_.

Fuck. Of course. Of _course_ this is how things would turn out now. He'd seduced the poor kid's grieving father, practically _thrown himself_ at the guy. He'd offered to _sleep with_ the father of one of his charges--and now said father was avoiding him and keeping his daughter from spending more time with Takafumi than she absolutely had to. This was just his way of saying _thanks, but no thanks_ and ending what was a decidedly unprofessional relationship before things got even more out of hand.

How the hell else had he expected this to turn out? Sunshine and daisies and they become one happy little family unit? This wasn't some stupid shoujo manga or some such tripe. This was real life--and when you offered sexual favors to someone who'd entrusted you to care for their child, well you certainly didn't get a _healthy relationship_ out of it. Not that he'd ever really had any delusions that what they did would be, in any way, _healthy_ , but at least it would've been consensual--or so he'd thought.

Instead, he'd just fucked himself over six ways from Sunday. 

Something tugged at his apron, and he glanced down, roused from his thoughts, to see Hiyori-chan staring up at him worriedly. "…Fumi-sensei? I'm real sorry I can't come over to play tonight."

Momentarily freed of the sickening weight holding it down, his heart leapt, and he squatted down to bring himself closer to her eye level, patting her on the shoulder. "Nah; I needed a break from you and your Papa. You're a handful; too much for me to handle on my own! I'm gonna have myself a nice relaxing evening tonight--and then I'll see you on Monday, how's that?"

She flushed softly and nodded with a squeaked, "Yessir!" before skipping out the door, taking the hand of the on-duty staff member seeing the children off to their parents and guardians.

He waited until she was out of sight to wipe a hand over his face and sigh to himself at the situation he'd gotten himself into. He'd made a very poor bed for himself, and now he was going to have to lie in it. Very much alone.

* * *

With a satisfied huff, Takafumi tugged the damp dishtowel through a drawer handle to let it dry, glancing about the kitchen to ensure he hadn't missed any dishes. With no dinner to prepare or pre-schoolers to entertain, his evening had been a quiet one--his first in a long time, and likely the start of a new trend now that he'd royally screwed himself over listening to his dick over his brain--and he'd attempted to find odd jobs to keep his mind off of the silence broken only by his puttering about. His books had been rearranged on their shelves by publishing year in addition to author and publishing house, his kitchen was spick and span, and his DVR was empty (not that it had ever been filled with more than an hour or so worth of content; he was a man of words, not video).

It was finally late enough, though, that he could start his evening ablutions and not feel so terribly like he was only turning in early because he had nothing else to occupy his time with. He was simply a normal guy, doing normal evening things, because it was a normal time to head to bed.

And then his doorbell rang, a soft digital _pin-pon_ sounding from the front hallway, and Takafumi frowned, wiping his sopping hands on the damp dishtowel and padding toward the genkan. It was far too late for deliveries, and he sincerely hoped it wasn't someone peddling something. He'd had a rather crappy day and, though not physically tired, he was mentally exhausted and already not looking forward to the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that.

When he pulled open the door, though, Kirishima-san immediately piled in without apology, shoving his way over the genkan and letting his bag slide to the floor, forgotten, while his hands went to Takafumi's shoulders, neck, chest, hemming him in and already tugging the shirt free from his pants with one hand while his other tipped Takafumi's chin up and took advantage of his mouth--opened to squawk, " _What the--?!_ "--sealing over it with a searing kiss and swallowing any complaints.

Takafumi tried to gulp in air but only succeeded in sucking Kirishima-san's tongue in deeper, reflexively suckling and brushing his own against it as his fingers scrambled to find purchase on Kirishima-san's shoulders, struggling to push away and give some breathing room. 

Kirishima-san rutted against him, breathing hard and flushed with sweat and effort--and it appeared to have next to nothing to do with the fact that he seemed to be attempting to eat Takafumi's face. 

He'd rushed here--had probably taken the steps up from the lobby, too impatient for the elevator.

Takafumi moaned as Kirishima-san's hard cock ground against his own burgeoning erection through layers of work clothes, finally succeeding in grabbing purchase on the man's shoulders and tearing him off. Lips swollen and red, he growled, "The _hell_ are you doing?!" forgetting, for a wild moment, that he really shouldn't be speaking to the parent of a charge like that--and that Kirishima-san trying to fuck him through two layers of clothing strongly suggested he hadn't been scared off by the previous evening's activities. If anything, he seemed hornier than ever.

"God, I have to fucking spell out everything for you?" Kirishima-san whined insistently, leaning back in and laving a stripe from Takafumi's pulse point on his neck up to just under his ear, suckling hard enough to leave a love bite, and Takafumi twisted away in irritation. Kirishima-san's tone instantly cooled, voice dropping and a rough growl seeping into his words. "Oi--if you're not in the mood, just say so, but I'll have you know I worked my _ass_ off getting out of that office before midnight tonight, and I've probably been half-hard since I passed you on the couch this morning--did you know you drool?--so either let me fuck you like you offered or let me borrow your bathroom and then I'll get out of your hair." He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. "Just--hurry up and pick, because I'm about to mess my pants here if I don't get them off one way or the other."

Takafumi's eyes widened a hair, and his breath skipped--wait, this was…a come-on? In retrospect, he supposed that if Kirishima-san had truly been avoiding him and trying to cut ties, he wouldn't have shown up at his door begging entrance at just past 11, and he _definitely_ wouldn't have greeted Takafumi with a tongue down his throat and groping hands. "Wait you…this is…" He swallowed and tried to angle his head to look Kirishima-san in the eye. "You're…here for _that_?" Kirishima-san just frowned, patently irritated that he hadn't made himself crystal clear with his spiel.

"Why do you think I got my mother to take Hiyo tonight?" He raised a brow. "Nothing kills a hard-on faster than your kid knocking on your door wanting a glass of water." Takafumi made a face, and Kirishima-san chuckled, but the gruffness to his voice made it sound less humorous and much, much more seductive, which cause a twisting in Takafumi's chest. "Or--what? You thought--" And here he finally pulled back, giving them both space as understanding blossomed on his features. "Shit--you thought I sent her away? From you?"

Takafumi _despised_ being read like a book, and he huffed shortly, "I--no, just--if you're gonna have someone else pick her up, you could at least let me know."

"I called the school," he reminded with a shrug.

"Then call and have them pass the message on _to me_!"

"Mmm, but then that would've ruined the surprise…" Takafumi could feel his ire mounting, with a thread of genuine frustration with _himself_ for spending the entire day caught up in ridiculous notions of being cast aside or shunned. This wasn't _supposed_ to be affecting him like this; he had really just…been worried about his job, that was all. Worried that he'd stepped _way_ too far across the bounds of propriety and would be branded a pervert and driven from his position at the school. Kirishima-san chuckled affectionately, though, and dipped forward to press their foreheads together. "Fine, I promise I won't spring it on you in the future…" And Takafumi felt his heart do a double-beat at the notion of _in the future_ , that this wasn't a one-time thing, that…they could do this, could work through this. "…assuming you're up to it?"

It was low, making Takafumi have to be the one to give the go-ahead, but he supposed he'd come off reluctant enough earlier that Kirishima-san had good reason to worry his advances wouldn't be welcomed, at least not this evening, and reasoning to himself that it would be a shame for all this hard work on Kirishima-san's part to go to waste, he ticked his head to the side in invitation, pursing his lips and grunting, "Come inside and settle in like a normal person; don't have to jump me in the _genkan_."

He shouldered his way out of the embrace Kirishima-san had him trapped in and pushed past back into the living room, rolling his eyes at the teasing, "I _am_ behaving like a normal person; a really horny normal person who's only staving off dropping dead on his feet from exhaustion by the anticipation of getting laid."

Takafumi breezed back into the kitchen, immediately casting about for anything--anything alcoholic, at least--that might give him a few minutes to collect his thoughts and remind himself that he had _asked_ for this, had said it was fine, they could do this. And he wasn't having second thoughts, definitely wasn't thinking about the last time he'd been greeted in a _genkan_ by someone incredibly aroused and hungry for a good fuck, he just had spent the whole day crafting countless ways in which his life might spiral out of control, and finally finding himself back on solid ground now was just…a jolt. Something he needed a minute to take in.

"Shall we retire to the _boudoir_ , madam?" came a teasing voice from just behind, warm breath feathering over his ear, and Takafumi whirled around, nearly clocking his guest across the jaw. "Easy--easy, geez," he laughed in response, eyes crinkling at their edges as he grabbed Takafumi's wrist in a gentle grip and ran a thumb lightly over his pulse point. "Guess I really must've thrown you off your game then, huh…"

Takafumi leaned back as Kirishima-san leaned in, struggling to keep precious space between them. "Told you--I just wasn't expecting it."

"Well then I'll be sure to be _perfectly_ forthright in all future exchanges…" He tightened his grip and tugged Takafumi forward, sending him nearly stumbling into Kirishima-san's embrace, and now their faces were way too close, and Takafumi hadn't found the remains of the six-pack he could've sworn he still had sitting around, and _shit_ he had really expected to at least be _buzzed_ when they eventually did this--

Two hands came up to grab him on either side of the head, forcing his gaze to meet Kirishima-san's, warm and steady and understanding, so much unlike his own, which he felt surely betrayed his frantic thoughts and panic and backtracking. "…I meant it, before."

"Wh--what?" His voice nearly cracked.

"If tonight's no good, just say so. I seriously didn't expect you to get the wrong idea with my mom picking up Hiyo--"

"I--I didn't get the _wrong idea_ , I just would've appreciated some fore--"

"--and I'm horny as shit, but I can get myself off perfectly capably once I'm back home, trust me." He flicked his gaze away, smiling a bit sheepishly to himself. "…I thought you'd…I guess I thought you'd be into the whole…messing around in the _genkan_ , that kind of frantic, desperate stuff."

He was, though. He _could be again_ , easily. But he didn't say so, instead he repeated, "Just…I wasn't expecting…"

"Well--I'm here now. So make a choice. I swear not to hold it against you, and if you decide my barging in on you was a deal-breaker, then…" He nodded, mostly to himself, then forced a wry grin. "…I'm kind of hoping I haven't just blown my one chance, though."

And _dammit_ , why did he have to go all boyish good looks and irritating charm that got under Takafumi's skin, pressing in close before pulling uncomfortably far away and giving Takafumi the _choice_ , when he worked so much more effectively on defense?

He closed his eyes and cursed under his breath, bringing up a hand to shove Kirishima-san away at the chest before curling his fingers in the loose material of his work shirt and jerking him along behind, stomping into the bedroom and slamming the door shut behind them.

* * *

The thing is, he hadn't really expected to bottom. Not the first time. He hadn't had sex--of any sort--for…a while, and despite Kirishima-san's rather crude professions of planning to "pound him into the mattress", he'd thought to have a bit more say in what they did--and how.

But Kirishima-san had been far too adept at wheedling to get his way, dipping long, nimble fingers into the hem of his pants and pressing suggestively between his tense cheeks, punctuating an unspoken question with another love bite just under Takafumi's chin. One sharp gasp and fingers clenched in Kirishima-san's shirt later, and he was having to explain himself away with, "The hell do you think you're poking?"

Kirishima-san was learning to see through his prickly demeanor into the real question underneath, though, which both comforted and frightened Takafumi, and he chuckled softly against the line of his jaw, "Would you like me to tender written permission…? _Sensei_."

"Don't--call me that right now, geez," he groused, a shudder roiling down his spine that had nothing to do with arousal. The fingers began to probe with more intent, brushing dangerously close to a place Takafumi had allowed _very_ few to ever touch, and he clenched his jaw. "Just--not so fucking fast, dammit. I never said you could…" 

And true, he hadn't explicitly said as such in so many words, but he'd given pretty strong signals that sex was on the table tonight, and so Kirishima-san could hardly be blamed for pulling back and frowning, his confused expression clearly visible even in the dim light. "…Fine. _Can I?_ " His tone said he was growing tired of beating around the bush and wanted some straightforward reassurance that Takafumi was ready for this, which really just made Takafumi want to groan in frustration and bury his head under a pillow.

How was he supposed to respond? "Sure, go for it, show me your stuff"? "Hell no, I'm gonna stick it in you if we're doing it"? He was either left sounding like some wanton harlot who spread his legs for anyone who looked at him sideways, ready and willing to bend for any man who would have him (when in reality, he only wanted to bend for the one man who _wouldn't_ have him), or like he _wanted_ to do another man, wanted to press someone down onto his bed, feel their broad flat chest and run hands down their well-defined arms and tug on their stiff cock. And he was neither of those things, so _what was he supposed to say_?

Either Kirishima-san had learned to read his mind or his expression had been _that_ telling--either way, he still huffed fondly and cocked his head, shaking it as he stared down at Takafumi flushed and wanting beneath him. "I don't mind either way, if we're being honest here--" And _fuck_ , was this guy actually gay? How the hell had he gotten a daughter? And a wife? Just 'doing his husbandly duty'? "--but like I said, I worked my ass off to get over here, not because I'm horny or hard-up or whatever, but because I wanted to _sleep with you_." He executed a slow roll of his hips, dragging his member, straining at the seams of his pants, over Takafumi's thigh to punctuate his need. "I want to _fuck you_." Takafumi couldn't help the long, ragged moan he failed to entirely suppress, and this drew a knowing grin on Kirishima-san's foxlike features. "Besides, you know what they say: Age on top of beauty."

Takafumi forced a frown with some effort. "That's--not how it goes."

Kirishima-san just snorted, rolling his eyes. "Fine. But age _before_ beauty, still." And he leaned down to brush his lips over Takafumi's, gentle and unassuming before dropping his chin a hair and inviting deeper contact to soothe. _Damn_ but his kisses felt amazing, equal parts arousing and relaxing, paradoxical as that was, and Takafumi felt his resolve melting away, darker parts of his brain reminding him he could always work out any sexual frustrations next time, and a dick up his ass wasn't as bad as he liked to think it was, and Kirishima-san _was_ older and more experienced and would probably make it feel really damn good and--

"Fuck--fuck, fine, all right--just…get on with it. Before I change my mind." And before Kirishima-san could gloat too cockily over his victory as he pulled away to make use of the condoms and lubricant Takafumi had grudgingly pulled out of his nightstand earlier, he snapped a hand out and gripped him sternly about the wrist, tugging for attention, "Next time, though. _Me_ , then."

Kirishima-san paused, blinking stupidly at the ultimatum, and then raked his gaze over Takafumi's body and responded with only a quirked lip, seemingly pleased with the situation. Takafumi released his grip and settled down onto his back, trying to keep his legs from just flopping open and struggling to remember how things had gone the last time he'd let someone do this--the _first time_ he'd let someone do this--while dwelling less on the _who_ and more on the _how_.

It wasn't that he disliked sex--it wasn't even that he disliked sex with _men_ , only that…he wasn't particularly attracted to men, wasn't particularly attracted to _anyone_ , and yet here he was, listening to his heart thudding in one hear while his other was trained on the sounds of foil packaging ripping and the sticky suck of gel being squeezed from a tube, waiting for the cold, probing fingers that would urge him to relax when that was the _last_ thing on his mind.

So he was kind of surprised when he instead felt the warm wetness of an open mouth envelop his cock, followed in short order by intense, velvety pressure sliding down and around. "Oh-- _shhh_ \--" he started chokingly when one hand came up to easy his thighs more comfortably apart as Kirishima-san settled in, going down on him far more deeply than Takafumi suspected was possible for most, and he tried to babble, "Shit--you don't have to, that's really-- _fuck_ man." Kirishima-san wisely took this for the compliment it was and smiled as best he could with a mouth full of dick and drew up again, long and slow and sucking before flicking his tongue over the head and releasing Takafumi with a _pop_.

"If we're going to do _everything_ the other way around next time," he practically _purred_ , free hand slicked with love gel coming up to trail butterfly brushes over the thin, sensitive skin covered Takafumi's balls before stroking across his perineum and back again, "I'm gonna expect a little recompense, you realize."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Takafumi assured distantly with all of the coherency of someone receiving their first blow job. Were he a bit more lucid and less high on how _fucking amazing_ it felt having someone's mouth on your dick, he might have reasoned that he didn't know the first thing about going down on someone and would never be able to offer any oral services that might somehow compare with what he was receiving just now--but that was for Kirishima-san to find out later.

Kirishima-san must have been satisfied with the response--or at least had graciously decided to put off calling Takafumi on his bull shit--for he puckered his lips and began suckling intently on the head, widening his mouth at short intervals to slide down again while one hand held Takafumi's thighs apart and the other took advantage of the distraction and began working him open with gentle intent.

And _oh_ , if he'd thought Kirishima was a good _kisser_ , then this…this was worth the distant discomfort of having someone poking around in his ass. Kirishima-san could stick whatever he wanted in there, as long as he had this sweet, intense distraction. He wanted to thrust upward into that heat--or better, to have it below him, beneath him, to just press and pound into the tight, warm heat and _shit_ he was definitely going to take Kirishima-san next time, even if the guy managed to not screw up fucking him. 

He couldn't help a few short, frantic little jerks of his hips when Kirishiam-san would draw up, cheeks caved in with pressure around the crown, and immediately he found himself released with soft tutting in his ears and, "Just relax and enjoy…" Which was easier said than done, given that by now, Kirishima-san was practically fisting him, it felt like, from one side and trying to suck his brains out from the other. The sensations were just _too much_ , and he must have whined something along those lines, for he was greeted with self-satisfied chuckling and, "Flattery will get you nowhere, Yokozawa-san."

He then drew up and off of Takafumi completely replacing his mouth with haphazard strokes of his hand that were a paltry substitute, and Takafumi made his disappointment known verbally. "Don't be a baby," was the amused return. "I swear you'll like this just as much, if not more."

Takafumi snorted incredulously, failing to stifle a sneer. "Yeah _ri--_ " But his words were choked off with a strained gasp as Kirishima-san began to ease his way inside, slow but ever so sure and not stopping, not pausing, not even a _you okay?_ and it felt like his dick just did _not_ end, like there was a whole broomstick handle in there, until finally, after ages, he was fully seated, bony hips poking into Takafumi's thighs. 

They both sat there in silence, and Takafumi only belatedly realized that Kirishima-san's own reticence and lack of witty repartee betrayed just how _intense_ it was for him too. He wondered, distantly, when the last time _he'd_ gotten laid was…and decided he really didn't want to know. But he all of a sudden wanted to make this really good for the guy--didn't want him sitting there, horny and desperate inside Takafumi, and realizing now that _oh shit_ what was he doing, he had a wife (had _had_ a wife), he had a daughter, he liked women, and Takafumi was good for a quick jerk on the couch, but this, sex, _making love_ , that was for someone you _cared_ about.

Takafumi didn't really "care about" Kirishima-san, not like that, but all the same…they'd agreed to this to try and dull the barbs of their mutual demons. Takafumi wanted it to be _worth it_.

He let his thighs drop open wider, inviting Kirishima-san to settle in more flush, and forced his arms up, tense as they were, to slide over that long neck, fingers running through tousled hair, to grip and tug him down with purpose. He ignored the look of wary confusion, a rare lapse of the mask he usually wore, and just guided their lips together, thrusting his tongue inside to seek out Kirishima-san's own and invite him to just _kiss_ , to take whatever he wanted, because just right now, Takafumi was in a giving mood, and he communicated this with a subtle roll of his hips, relishing the little moaned gasp he received in return.

Kirishima-san didn't have to be told twice.

Takafumi lost the wits to keep kissing in short order and settled for hanging on for dear life, which is what it honestly felt like as Kirishima-san pressed into him with startling intensity, mattress creaking and bedframe rocking as he thrust and thrust and thrust with increasing fervor as he charged on toward a well-earned climax, and far from feeling like it lasted forever, as if this were some third-rate romance manga, the main event was over almost disappointingly quickly--almost.

It might have lasted longer were Kirishima-san not exhausted (how he'd managed to muster the strength for so much activity the last day in a cycle, Takafumi would never understand; he _really_ must have wanted this) and had Takafumi not been driven nearly to the brink himself by the fellatio and a surprisingly enjoyable receiving experience--but as it was, they both quite quickly found release when they just barreled on through for maximum pleasure rather than trying to draw it out, and Kirishima-san filled the condom he'd rolled on while Takafumi spurted his own release like a white flag of surrender, finally giving himself over to his climax.

Kirishima-san slid out with a squelching pop, collapsing onto his side before rolling over onto his back and letting his chest rise and fall with great heaving breaths of relief. He groped blindly at his crotch until he managed to relieve himself of the condom, then tied it off and let it drop into the little trashcan at Takafumi's bedside. Takafumi distantly envied his quick, simply cleanup, glancing down at his own stomach and legs and wondering how long it would take before he managed sufficient strength to toddle into the shower. He felt sore and empty and just wanted to curl up under the covers right about now and let the high of orgasm carry him into slumber, but he knew he needed to at least wipe himself down, or what the morning brought would not be pretty.

He grimaced and moved to roll over onto his side, wincing at the pull of muscles he knew would voice complaints in another eight hours--when an arm snapped out to stay him, Kirishima-san murmuring softly, voice still winded, "Hold up…just…hang out with me here for a while…"

And somewhere inside, he knew he shouldn't. Knew for a dozen different reasons he ought not to indulge in little niceties like sharing warmth with someone after sex, for the same reason he should never have let Kirishima-san kissed him, should _definitely_ never have started initiating them himself, but he shoved them all aside, tried to ignore the sticky spurt of semen drying across his abdomen, and shifted over to lie on his side and doze next to Kirishima-san.

Just until he got his strength back, that was all.


	7. Chapter 7

"Yokozawa-saaaan~" Saeki-san tittered, waving her mug in the air and gesturing to the waitress who'd stopped by their table to take further drink orders. "Another round for you, too??"

Takafumi tore his gaze from trying to glare holes through the scrawny editor Masamune had dragged along to the event and instead directed his attentions to Saeki-san, a rather upbeat--almost _too_ upbeat if Takafumi were being honest with himself; she was hard to keep up with--manga editor from Onodera Shuppan where Masamune had apparently finally found a buyer for the manuscript he'd been shopping around for the past year or so.

He'd read it--and it was good shit, but the economy was tanking right now, and none of the major publishing houses seemed all that keen on taking a chance on a new author out of the blue. What had made Onodera Shuppan take the bait was beyond Takafumi, but seeing the irritating way Masamune seemed to be all over his little editor friend sent an uncomfortable chill down Takafumi's spine.

It had been two weeks ago that he'd brought it up with Kirishima-san, an uncomfortable ending tag to an otherwise enjoyable 'family' dinner with Kirishima-san and Hiyori-chan on a rare night that the guy had gotten off of work early enough to take dinner with his daughter and Takafumi. He'd been clearing down the table, waiting for Kirishima-san to send Hiyori-chan off to brush her teeth, when he'd dropped it: "The Friday at the beginning of next month…"

"Hm?" Kirishima-san had been full and sated and probably not even listening with his full attention.

"Two Fridays from now, you'll need to make other arrangements for Hiyori-chan." And before Kirishima-san had even asked why--not that it had been any of his business--he'd found himself clarifying, "It's…Masamune's birthday is next month, and he's having an early party. Just drinks with a few of his friends, so…"

It had been there, in the awkward, still silence that followed, that Takafumi realized he'd never said the name before. Kirishima-san had had no reason to know who 'Masamune' was--a cousin, a brother, a co-worker. Would he get the wrong idea? Would he-- _shit_ \--get the _right_ idea? They'd never discussed it, mostly because Takafumi was bound and determined to bite his tongue off before broaching the subject, but just tossing Masamune's name out so casually like this, now, souring the pleasant mood that had lain between them had really…seemed like a faux pas. Takafumi had actually _regretted_ it.

But if Kirishima-san had noticed the grimace that passed over his features, he'd made no mention of it, instead just cupping his post-prandial cup of tea close to warm his fingers and nodding to himself. "Of course; I'll see if my mother can spare the time to head over and pick her up. She owes me for taking Dad to the doctor the other day on my day off, after all." He'd probably added the last bit in an attempt to lighten the mood, but it hadn't really worked.

Takafumi had grunted in response and gone back to doing the dishes, grateful that the sound of the running sink water drowned out the scrape of Kirishima-san pushing back his chair and heading into the bathroom to check up on Hiyori-chan. He'd attacked the dishes with a savagery born of irritation, fuming in frustration with himself, with Masamune, with Kirishima-san, with _everything_. He'd had no reason to feel the way he had--it wasn't like he was going to fuck Masamune, to try and rekindle an old flame when it was clear the guy still needed his space and was in no position to get involved with anyone, so there was no reason to be embarrassed or to feel _ashamed_ for reminding Kirishima-san that he had his own life, his own schedule, his own priorities.

A plate had clanked in the sink as he dropped it from a height, steam billowing up around him, and he'd swallowed thickly--because what the hell did it matter? If he _had_ been intending to seduce Masamune and sleep with him, like some combined birthday-and-Christmas present rolled into one, what business was it of Kirishima-san's? Not that the guy had insinuated it _should_ be his business--it was just the principle of the thing.

He'd clenched his jaw and gingerly reached into the sink, wincing at how hot the water was running. They were sleeping together out of convenience, that was all. Had only really _fucked_ once in the nearly two months since the whole affair had started. A few odd handjobs (and one fucking _fantastic_ blowjob that Takafumi was ashamed he hadn't been able to effectively return in kind) didn't mean they were married, didn't even mean they were _dating_. If Kirishima-san called him up one night and asked him to watch Hiyori-chan for the evening and that he'd be by in the morning because he'd picked someone up in a bar, he'd be an inconsiderate jerk for pawning his kid off on Takafumi on short notice, nothing more.

They weren't _in a relationship_ , so Takafumi was perfectly within his rights to be here, in a bar he'd frequented with Masamune on several occasions, entertaining Masamune's editor--who looked decidedly out of place and like he wished he were anywhere else but stuffed between Saeki-san and Masamune--and Saeki-san herself, whose relationship with Masamune he really couldn't divine (girlfriend? Definitely not; he knew what Masamune looked like with a girlfriend, and it wasn't how he looked with Saeki-san).

He waved her off, dipping a finger into his shirt pocket to palm the half-empty pack he kept there, and began slipping off the bench. "No more for me--I'm gonna grab a smoke and then get going." Saeki-san made a rude noise of disappointment, and Takafumi couldn't help snorting softly in response--she was loud and rude and a terrible drunk; he kind of liked her.

"I'll join you," Masamune offered, and before Takafumi could object, Masamune was shoving Onodera off of him and leaning him carefully onto Saeki-san's shoulder, who looked decidedly put out to learn she was now in charge of making sure the guy didn't drink anymore and wind up vomiting his discomfort over the table. "I worked hard to get him 'fun tipsy'. I won't have anyone else destroying my efforts." He added with a bit of promise in his voice that Takafumi most definitely didn't appreciate, "At least not 'til I've gotten to take advantage of them." Onodera squawked something unintelligible and flushed darkly watching Masamune leave with wary eyes that betrayed a hint of disappointment.

If she noticed the innuendo, though, Saeki-san said nothing, just rolling her eyes and waving them off, reminding them not to make a break for the station and stick her with the bill.

Takafumi made his way to the exit, not pausing to make sure Masamune was following, and already had a cigarette out and in his fingers before he'd passed through the _noren_ into the chill of an early winter night.

He huddled close to the other smokers taking refuge from the brisk breeze whipping around them and cupped his hands protectively around his lighter until the tip of the cigarette caught, jolting to attention at a hand on his shoulder as Masamune leaned in close to catch the flame on his own cigarette, inhaling deeply.

Masamune settled back against the building, eyes closed, and slowly released a trail of smoke. "…Thanks. For coming tonight." Takafumi just grunted his response, for nothing else needed to be said. He was Masamune's friend, of _course_ he wasn't going to miss the guy's birthday celebration, even if it _was_ a month early. "I know you've had your hands full with…what's-his-face."

Takafumi started; if he hadn't known better, he might think Masamune sounded _jealous_. But that was ridiculous, and Masamune had no right to be jealous in the first place, so he just returned, "I'm watching his kid, that's all. A glorified babysitter." He took a drag. "And you're one to talk; does he _always_ act like he's walking to his execution when you take him out?"

Masamune smiled softly to himself and shrugged good-naturedly. "Maybe you just intimidate him."

"The fuck does he have to be scared of me for?" Masamune just rolled his eyes. "And what the hell did you invite him here for? You never used to like mixing your work and private lives before…" Not that Masmaune had ever done much in the way of 'work' in a professional sense, but even back in college, he never dated any of his coworkers or so much as offered a smile to any women in positions of power. He just wasn't into shitting where he ate, as the saying went--which was more than Takafumi could say of late.

And now Masamune's soft smile turned hard, glittering-- _knowing_ , and he dropped his voice and shuffled closer, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out slowly to increase the tension. "…It's him, you know."

"Huh?"

Masamune snorted and cocked his head to catch Takafumi's eye. " _Him_. Ritsu. He's Onodera now, for whatever reason, but…it's him."

And _oh_. There had only ever been one 'him'. Takafumi had always been just 'Yokozawa', never anything more than one of countless names that dropped off Masamune's lips and into his bed. But _him_ \--well that was a different story.

Takafumi's face must have betrayed his shock--he could feel the blood draining away, washing his pallor over pale, but Masamune ignored it, continuing to _prattle_. He was _prattling_. This was serious. "I sure as hell never expected it; I mean, what are the chances? Fucking astronomical, I'll bet you." Astronomical indeed, and Takafumi hated that his mind immediately jumped to romantic bullshit like _red string of fate_. "Honestly, I'm not even sure how I feel about it… I mean, I know I should be pissed, and I was--at first, but the little prick's so damn _professional_ , like he's got some on-off switch where he can treat me like a client when he needs to and be all 'Takano-sensei' with me, and then outside of work he's just…just…" He let his head fall back against the concrete wall behind him. "Ritsu."

A long blade of ash dropped from the end of Takafumi's cigarette, crumbling on the ground below--and he whipped the cigarette from his mouth, wary he was about to inhale it in shock.

He'd come here out of…well, he wasn't sure why he'd come, honestly--he'd been on less than close terms with Masamune over the past few months, the silence between them more a product of their busy schedules than any real antipathy on either of their parts, but he'd thought ( _assumed_ ) that coming out here tonight would rekindle their friendship, would remind him what he was holding out for, what _patience_ was.

And now, here Masamune was, smiling stupidly to himself like some lovestruck teenager who didn't know what to do with himself and losing his head over an old flame--and not just any old flame, but the one that had sent his life into a downward spiral Takafumi had only barely managed to drag him out of. 

Onodera had _ruined_ Masamune…and now the guy was walking back into his arms.

"All right--I'm heading back inside. You coming?" He exhaled a final cloud of smoke with a sardonic smile. "You still haven't given me my present." Cocky asshole; he knew full well Takafumi would be there on his doorstep with a gift the day-of and not before. 

But he didn't rise to the bait, instead robotically muttering something about needing to head out, having an errand to run, groceries to pick up--a babbling rush of mumbled excuses that had to sound forced and false, but Masamune just raised a brow and punched him lightly in the shoulder as he sauntered back inside, tossing back with a wave, "Try making time for drinks with me again _before_ my next birthday."

Takafumi watched him go, helpless, and sat there slumped against the wall of the bar breathing in the dank, toxic smoke of others around him who'd ducked out for a quick hit as well--and it was only at length that he managed to heave himself off and point his feet in the general direction of the nearest station.

His vision blurred with anger and frustration and his chest tightened as he lumbered into the night, and after a few deep, calming breaths, he finally managed the sense of self to shove his hand into his back pocket and palm his cellphone, tugging it out and swiping a finger across the screen to bring it to life. 

Muscle memory and helpful placement at the top of his Call History list had the phone _brrr_ ing musically in his ear a moment later, and he swallowed thickly--before his shoes scraped against the sidewalk as he drew to a stop.

What the hell was he doing?

Why was he leaving Masamune just because he'd stumbled into a working relationship--he hadn't said a _word_ about fucking Onodera--with an old flame?

Why was he two long rings into an attempted phone call to Kirishima-san, with no earthly clue what he was going to say when-- _if_ \--the guy picked up?

Why was the first thing that came to mind when the threat of Masamune being snatched away 'run and hide behind Kirishima-san' like some child fleeing an imagined threat and seeking refuge in the comfort of his mother's skirts?

_"Hello?"_

He inhaled sharply, the world coming back into focus around him, and suddenly he was acutely aware of how _monumentally stupid_ he was being. He'd wasted the night, hadn't even told Masamune goodbye properly or made any overtures about being open to more frequent evenings out with his best friend, and now he was clutching his phone to his ear for dear life, Kirishima-san's voice warming his core over the airwaves.

_"…Yokozawa? Hello?"_

He jerked the phone away from his ear and fumbled with trembling fingers until he managed to end the call, the markedly short call time blinking back at him in accusation.

 _Fuck_ he was so screwed.

* * *

He supposed he should have been more surprised to see Kirishima-san's lanky form leaning against the cement wall outside his apartment, using the hallway lamp as light to read by, but all he could muster was a muted curse to himself and a resolute refusal to meet the man's eyes as he shuffled down to his door and fumbled for his keys in his pocket.

Kirishima-san snapped shut the book he'd been leafing through to pass the time--hastily pocketing it and standing up straight as he clearly tried to school his features and not look like he'd been waiting, worried, for Takafumi.

Which was ridiculous--and utterly unnecessary. It had been a bad idea to begin with, calling Kirishima-san out of the blue like that, but there'd been no reason for him to leave Hiyori-chan so late in the evening just to check in on him. Or if he felt there had been--surely a text would have sufficed. 

"Hey…" Kirishima-san started softly as Takafumi tried to palm the right key with half-frozen fingers, fighting to force it into the lock. "I got your call…"

"It was a mistake," he muttered, clarifying, "I didn't mean to dial. Must've sat on it at the bar or something." Kirishima-san didn't back off, though, clearly unconvinced, so Takafumi tried a different tack, raking an irritated gaze over his form. "What the hell are you doing here anyway? Don't tell me you left Hiyori-chan all alo--"

"Of course not, idiot," was the peevish retort; Kirishima-san clearly didn't like having his parenting credentials called into question. "She was already spending the night with my parents tonight." He shrugged. "Thought a night to myself might be nice; don't get many of them nowadays." Takafumi hadn't seen his car in the lot downstairs--which meant he'd probably been drinking at least a little and had necessarily taken the train instead. Part of him wondered if there'd been any particular reason for Kirishima-san drinking--until he remembered that yeah, there probably had been, because if anyone had a reason to hit the bottle, it was this guy.

Takafumi contorted his face into what he hoped was a mildly apologetic expression and finally pushed his way inside, thinking twice before inviting Kirishima-san in, out of the cold, before finally allowing it. 

He let his coat practically fall off his shoulders, hanging it haphazardly on the hook by the door before lifting out of his shoes and making for the kitchen. Kirishima-san could make himself at home by now and didn't need Takafumi hovering over him. He made for the cupboard, pulling out a glass and turning on his heel immediately for the space where he kept a bottle for such occasions when it hurt more to remember Masamune than to forget him entirely--before recalling that he'd just come from a bar, and what would Kirishima-san think, seeing his child's pre-school teacher knocking back hard liquor not twenty minutes after coming home from drinking?

He pursed his lips, trying to ignore the sound of feet shuffling into the dining area, and tugged open his refrigerator door to inspect its contents--he was sure he'd made a pot of tea a few nights before, and that might at least calm his racing heart a bit, if nothing else.

"…You wanna talk about it?"

Kirishima-san's voice was uncomfortably close; he was only leaning against the counter, a few paces from where Takafumi stood, but just right now--it was _too close_. Like as if just by standing there, in Takafumi's immediate vicinity, he could absorb all of the nasty thoughts and dirty fantasies he was entertaining right about now, could see how Takafumi pined for what he couldn't have even though he _deserved it dammit_. Oda--Onodera, whatever the fuck his name was, the little asshole didn't _get_ to have Masamune, he didn't get to stomp on his heart all over again and then flit away like a bird on the wing to warmer climes. 

No, he sure as hell didn't want to _talk about it_. He slammed the fridge door shut--not as satisfying as slamming a _real_ door, but at least the neighbors wouldn't complain about the noise--and placed the unused glass in the sink before reaching up to his collar and slipping loose the top buttons of the casual dress shirt he'd worn to the bar--too little time after his shift earlier to change.

"No, I don't want to talk about it," he repeated aloud this time, next reaching for the cuffs and shuffling out of the kitchen, headed for his bedroom at a leisurely pace. "I want to fuck you."

He didn't look at Kirishima-san when he said this--because he didn't know what his face looked like, and until he could regain some control over his features, he didn't want the guy to see him. But all the same, after a slow beat of silence, Kirishima-san's voice came from behind, surprisingly even and measured: "…I'm sure we can arrange that."

He was already peeling off his undershirt before he'd crossed the threshold into his room, paying little mind to Kirishima-san following behind--he was pretty sure the guy could strip himself, and the less he reminded himself it was Kirishima-san he was about to sleep with and not Masamune, the better. 

The warm bulk that drew up behind him was tolerable--but when fingers began to play at his bare hips, helping to ease his pants down around his knees, he took a step forward and finished derobing himself, waving a hand to the bed. "Get on your stomach." When no response came, he glanced over his shoulder to press home his point, raising a brow when Kirishima-san just gaped at him. "I said I wanted to fuck you--is that a problem?"

Another moment, and Kirishima-san regained his composure beautifully, finally registering what Takafumi was getting at--and whether he really _was_ fine with being on the receiving end or he simply was too proud to admit he had misunderstood Takafumi's earlier request, he dutifully, slipped down the boxer-briefs that clung tight around his ass and stepped out of them before almost fluidly rolling onto the bed, long and lean and stretched out for inspection.

If there was one thing Takafumi was never going to do in this complicated arrangement they had--it was deny that he thought Kirishima-san was a damn fine specimen. He wasn't gay--had never slept with any men before Masamune or since, aside from Kirishima-san--but he could appreciate the form without feeling like his masculinity was being threatened, and the strong line of Kirishima-san's back blurring into the soft curve of a decently rounded ass (something few seemed blessed with these days) was far from unappealing in an aesthetic sense, and even if he _was_ a few years Takafumi's elder, he hadn't yet started to go flabby with age.

From the back, it would be easy enough to pretend.

He tugged open the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out the little nondescript bottle and a silvery condom package, going about preparations with methodical aloofness. Balancing one knee on the mattress, he reached around with one hand dripping with the slippery good and unceremoniously slipped a finger between Kirishima-san's cheeks without so much as a polite request, probing until he found what he sought. Kirishima-san grunted softly, but said nothing to the contrary, and so Takafumi leisurely probed with one hand while he tore open the condom package and rolled it down over the erection he'd started nursing, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing.

If he squinted hard and brought everything into a deep, empty black behind his eyes, he could almost fool himself into thinking it was four years ago--that the scent of alcohol was from Masamune, not himself, and that the uncomfortable grunting that punctuated the silence now and then was from trying not to blow his load because Masamune was lying there, ass practically waving around in the air, nearly _begging_ Takafumi to fuck him, because he'd already been horny when Takafumi had run off the floozy he'd dragged back to the apartment, and he just needed help getting off, needed a warm body against his own--

His eyes snapped open, pupils contracting in the light, and he winced--wishing he'd turned them down, or off entirely. This would be easier that way. He pulled his hand away--surely that was preparation enough--and crawled over to awkwardly position himself behind Kirishima-san. Lining up the tip, he paused for a moment and swallowed, trying to calm himself--he was wired and not entirely in his right mind just now, and he _desperately_ wanted this (even if not necessarily with Kirishima-san), but he wasn't an asshole, didn't want to _hurt_ the guy (emotionally _or_ physically), and so he forced himself to take a breath. 

He must have paused for too long, though, because Kirishima-san's voice came softly, muffled in part by the pillow he'd used to support himself. "…I'm not gonna break, you know."

Takafumi's vision came back into focus, gaze flicking to the side where he caught Kirishima-san staring back at him. Even in the relatively low light of the room now, he could see a dark flush and sheen of sweat washing over his flesh. He looked…ready. Not necessarily like he wanted it, but then that could hardly be helped.

Grabbing hold of Kirishima-san's hips, Takafumi gave a slow roll, dragging his cock down and over the dip in his ass once, and then again, to lull himself into the rhythm, as if he needed to psyche himself up for the act. His breathing was ragged--and it showed in his speech: "…I want to take you up on that offer."

He could almost _hear_ the question mark forming over Kirishima-san's head, the witty retort practically expected. "I've offered you a fair few things of late, Sensei… I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific." The tip of Takafumi's cock brush over his hole, bowing with pressure before slipping past without entering, and Kirishima-san's hips bucked lightly at the sensation, a gasp entering his voice as a predatory smile curled at his lips. "O--r, or…I could try and _guess_ what offer it was…"

Takafumi just shook his head, in a less than playful mood this evening, and he locked his hard gaze with Kirishima-san's and thinned his lips. "…Before, you said…" He swallowed thickly, steeling himself. "You said…I could call you his name."

The faint widening of Kirishima-san's eyes was the only indication that he'd been affected in the least by the reminder--but he quickly covered any shock he might have felt at being called on the offer with a wry grin and cocky bravado. "I suppose I did, at that…" He huffed softly, settling down against the pillow to get comfortable.

And _shit_ , now _both_ their erections were flagging, and the tension had gone all _awkward_ instead of just on the razor edge of ready to burst--this hadn't been a good idea. Granted, decisions made with alcohol in the blood rarely _weren't_ bad ones, but this seemed to have been a particularly poor show, and why the hell had he given in and ruined a _good thing_ (if not a _healthy_ thing) just because Masamune was mooning over an old flame? 

He grimaced to himself--running dialogue in his mind to try and piece together the best way to ask Kirishima-san to leave without making it seem like he was pissed the guy wasn't just _thrilled_ Takafumi wanted to use him as a substitute for another man. "It's not you, it's me," probably wasn't going to go over very well, and there was no way he--

"…Well? Are you gonna sit there playing with yourself all night, or are we gonna do this?" Takafumi was jerked from his dark thoughts by the rough promise in Kirishima-san's voice--and he came back to himself to find the man slowly, methodically working himself, hips cocked up enough to allow him to slip a hand between his groin and the dingy pillow he'd draped himself over to improve the angle Takafumi would take him in.

Takafumi's eyes followed the slow, up-and-down slide of his fist, half imagining Kirishima-san was prepping himself to knock Takafumi onto the mattress and mount up. This got his own erection's attention, and it bobbed a bit with excitement--his hand instinctively going to it and massaging without marked intent. 

He allowed himself another few moments' reverie of their few hurried encounters to get him back in the mood--only because those encounters were more _immediate_ , _clearer_ in his mind. If thinking about Kirishima-san's biting, demanding and equal parts gentle and coaxing kisses, if rutting a few practiced strokes against Kirishima-san's upturned ass and not bothering to imagine it was _someone else_ helped get him hot and hard and eager again so that he could go through with this, get this out of his system--then it was all for the best. Masamune was never going to know about this, so he couldn't be jealous that Takafumi needed this other man's voice, his lips, his touch to stoke his arousal after he'd lost his nerve.

He snatched up the lotion again and squeezed out a new dollop, relubricating himself and Kirishima-san for good measure, and when he determined that the grunts Kirishima-san was failing to suppress were just this side of pleasurable, he lined himself up and slowly nosed in--continuing to slide home when Kirishima-san offered no protest to the contrary.

A modicum less control, and Takafumi worried he would have spilled right then--he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept with a woman (clearly, it had been too long, then), but _fuck_ his right hand was a poor substitute for the warm tightness of thrusting into an eager human body like this, and he only just managed to hold himself back from sliding out and slamming back in full force just to experience that exquisite shift in pressure, zero to _crushing_. 

But Kirishima-san's fists were white-knuckled and clenching the sheets, and Takafumi might have liked to think it was from pleasure, but he doubted as such just at the moment. So he stopped thinking, stopped thinking about Masamune and Oda--Onodera, stopped thinking about Kirishima-san. Stopped thinking about anything that might draw a reaction from him for better or worse and just focused on maintaining the status quo while Kirishima-san recovered, because he'd been around long enough to recognize the signs of someone who needed support but was too chickenshit (or too cocky) to ask for it.

He counted the moments ticking by in his mind, and just as he was starting to wonder if maybe he'd read the situation wrong altogether and Kirishima-san had fallen asleep on his dick, a strained but strong voice growled at him, "So are you gonna fuck me, or am I gonna have to toss you down and do it myself?" He punctuated the threat by clenching tight--and that got Takafumi's attention, fingers digging into Kirishima-san's bony hips with a choked gasp and leaving behind red marks that he might need to explain if he took a trip to a _sentou_ any time in the next few days.

" _Shit_ ," he cursed sharply, feeling a wave of irritation wash over him, and it was all the prodding he needed to get going as he squared his knees beneath himself and dragged out long and slow before snapping forward again and drawing a choked grunt that made his lip curl superiorly. _That_ would teach him to be mouthy when Takafumi was sitting here trying to be a nice guy and not ream him.

He clenched his eyes shut here and leaned forward, guiding Kirishima-san back down flat against the bed where he'd started to rise up onto all fours--he just wanted to get this over with; no sense in savoring something he was going to regret later, after all. Kirishima-san complied, settling back down and spreading his legs a hair wider, probably assuming Takafumi would like to see his handiwork as he pounded the guy into the mattress. But he didn't want to see--he just wanted to feel and hear and _imagine_ , and he knew in the back of his mind that the moment he let that name drop from his lips, the moment he _allowed_ himself this fantasy, everything was going to change. 

Which would've been fine, if Takafumi had had the slightest idea of the _direction_ in which things would shift--but he didn't, was clueless on this point, and so he was stuck here, dick buried inside a man at least a half a decade his senior, trying to recapture lost love in the few frantic moments he was going to last before spilling himself pathetically calling the name of someone who was never going to love him back the way Takafumi wanted him to.

He bit back a frustrated growl and held his breath, then braced himself as he started pistoning, a slow, steady roll of his hips that built momentum as adrenaline and arousal poured strength into his limbs. He fell onto all fours, pressing the body beneath him into the mattress, and let his chest come flush against the broad back heaving with effort. His partner's panting in his mind became Masamune--long and lean and beautifully desperate for someone to touch him, to offer human warmth and comfort because the person he really wanted had uprooted and fled and taken pieces of Masamune with him. Masamune was _hurting_ and _in pain_ and Takafumi was the only one, the only one there for him who gave a shit--

" _Masa…mune…_ " he groaned, but it came out less erotic and more pathetic, whining, desperate, and he repeated the name in tempo with punching thrusts, some more punishing, some burning fever bright before gentling with insistence as he tried to bury himself physically and mentally inside this person beneath him. " _Fuck_ , Masamune…"

He just kept muttering that name over and over and over, because this was the only way he was ever going to be able to have Masamune--for now at least; he refused to allow _forever_ \--and he was going to be ashamed he'd allowed himself to sink to this come morning, but for now, for now…he could have _Masamune_ hot and needy beneath him, could be the _one person_ able to give him what he wanted. 

But then there was an _echo_ \--an answering call to his cries of _Masamune, Masamune_ \--and it was _his name_ , breathy and labored but still just as desperate and full of pain and need. " _Taka…fumi…Takafumi…shit…_ " His name, interspersed with choked curses muffled by a pillow, and _fuck_ this wasn't right--this wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Masamune didn't call him that--Masamune had never called him _anything_ in bed, because he hadn't been sleeping with Takafumi, he'd just been trying to forget everything. Calling out a name would've been counter to the whole _purpose_ of falling into bed with his best friend, the friend who'd stick by him no matter what and never ask questions, never press for more.

But the more he ground out _Masamune_ into that sweat-slicked back, the headier came his name on flushed, full lips, whole body shifting back to meet Takafumi's frustrated thrusts as they rode along together toward climax. 

"Ha…harder…Takafumi, shit--almost…there…" And didn't he _get it_? Didn't he understand this wasn't supposed to be about _him_ , about _his_ pleasure right now? Takafumi was never going to get this out of his system if Kirishima-san kept poking his damn nose in at the worst possible time. It was throwing him off, he couldn't fool himself into thinking, for just a few lonely moments, that he _had him_ again, that _this_ was something they could have eventually. 

But of course he didn't get it, because Takafumi had never explained it; Kirishima-san wasn't doing this on _purpose_ , he was calling him that because he thought that was what Masamune called him. He'd taken _pity_ and was trying to just make it hurt a little less, make it mean a little more--but it was backfiring now, and every strangled _Masamune_ just tasted bitter on his lips and tongue until he wanted to bite it off, to never whisper that name in this bed again, to just--

"Hng…Kiri…shima-san, just…" He pressed his forehead into the nape of the neck below him, breathing in deep with eyes wide shut and barreling forward on instinct alone, smiling in removed satisfaction when Kirishima-san continued to just babble his name over and over and over--they'd never be able to do this while Hiyori-chan was around even if it _weren't_ awkward as hell, not with how mouthy Kirishima-san was proving to be. "Kirishima-san Kirishi--shit, _shit_ \--"

He felt his breath stolen away as his orgasm washed over him, sweeping over himself and into Kirishima-san beneath him who responded in kind with a proud spurt of white over the stained pillow he'd been rutting against, clenching his ass tight to milk Takafumi dry as he spilled into the condom.

Tiny electric shudders wracked both their bodies as they rode out the pleasure, until everything came back into dull focus, colors just that bit less vibrant around them. Everything was slick or sticky and smelled of sweat and sex--and Takafumi wanted to roll off the bed and into the shower, but his limbs weren't cooperating just yet, so he settled for rolling off of Kirishima-san, flopping down onto his back as he dismounted with an _oof_. He could already tell he was going to be sore come morning and thanked his lucky stars he had a weekend to recover.

Kirishima-san snorted softly at him. "I'm the older one here; I'm the one who's supposed to have difficulty keeping up with my young lover."

"Shut up," he groused peevishly. "It's just…been a while, that's all." Not exactly a response that was less shameful than being thought unable to keep up with Kirishima-san, but it would have to do.

They settled into a necessary if not altogether comfortable silence for a few moments as they both allowed their breathing to even out, and Takafumi had finally managed to gather enough strength to at least hobble to the bathroom--when Kirishima-san's voice came, soft and serious just at his ear where their heads shared a pillow.

"…I think…I'm gonna have to rescind my offer."

Takafumi stared up at his ceiling, not allowing any emotion to show on his face, and wondered if he could pretend he hadn't heard. 

This wasn't a good sign--not at all. This was the first step down a slippery slope that bespoke possessiveness, neediness, that tilted this arrangement from a fair balance of satisfying sexual encounters that served no purpose beyond immediate physical pleasure as they neither one of them could have the person they _really_ wanted and sent it tipping dangerously into _one-sided infatuation_ territory. 

All his better angels were shouting at him to _stop this_ , cut it off now, make this the end of it. He'd had a few fun evenings--and that display just now should have been enough to keep him sated for months to come, like some giant snake after a meal. 

He knew better, knew what he _needed_ to do--but instead, all that came out was a cocky grin, quirking up on one side as he tilted his head to the side with, "…I never realized you were the jealous type, Kirishima-san."

All he received in return, though, was a curious glance that quickly dissolved into quiet self-reflection on Kirishima-san's part--before he shifted up and eased off the bed, tossing back mutely, "Neither did I," as he shuffled off to take first shower.


	8. Chapter 8

“Here you go.”

Takafumi let his eyes flutter open, head lifting where he’d let it fall back against the back of the bench he’d settled onto, and he muttered his thanks as he reached forward for the bottled water Kirishima-san pressed into his grasp before joining him on the bench. A few meters away, Hiyori-chan was seated primly on a stool, legs swinging beneath her as she tried not to fidget, lest she ruin the caricature portrait one of the park’s artists was painting of her.

Kirishima-san reached over with his own bottle to bump against Takafumi’s in a mock toast, quirking a grin. “Thanks. For coming out with us. Pretty sure chaperoning Hiyo on all the kiddie rides isn’t your idea of the most glamorous way to spend your Saturday, but we were glad you came.”

Takafumi tried not to stiffen at the casual use of _we_ and covered any embarrassment that might have been evident on his features with a swig from his bottle. “Not like I had anything better to do.” Which, pathetically enough, wasn’t a lie. 

In the weeks that had passed since the admittedly awkward events following Masamune’s birthday outing, Takafumi had taken great care in navigating his relationship (platonic as he maintained it was) with Kirishima-san. The whole thing fell apart if _feelings_ wormed their way between them, and while he recognized it was probably jumping the gun to assume that not wanting to be called someone else’s name in bed meant they were no longer just releasing steam, the fact remained that they _had_ initially agreed to this (or Takafumi assumed they had, at least) only because they each couldn’t be with the person they really wanted to. Takafumi wanted _Masamune_ , and when the day eventually came that drinks with his friend led to them stumbling back to one of their apartments and into bed—into a _relationship_ —together, Kirishima-san would have to accept that their interactions no longer included getting each other off.

But Masamune wasn’t exactly talking his ear off—hadn’t really conversed with him more than via a few pithy texts suggesting he come by to check in on Sorata after the new year—and so he’d had no excuse to turn down Kirishima-san when he’d invited Takafumi along on a father-daughter date to Kuma Park. When Takafumi had protested grudgingly that Kirishima-san didn’t seem to understand the concept of a ‘father-daughter date’ if he was inviting Takafumi to go in the first place, the guy had just laughed and said he’d be by to pick up Takafumi at 9 o’clock Saturday morning.

It was rare that Kirishima-san found the chance to relax and spend some quality time with his daughter—Takafumi knew this, as he spent the better portion of most weekdays with her and had to listen to the man complain about his hectic schedule on the weekends on those rare evenings they had meals together. If he had a free weekend, it was because he had _made_ one for himself. Why he wanted to drag Takafumi along was beyond understanding, but he’d been asked to come along (with strong suggestions that Hiyori-chan would never forgive him if he declined), and so here he was.

Hiyori-chan giggled at something the artist said, her pony tail bouncing around her head as she shook it, and he couldn’t stifle a fond snort at the sight. 

Kirishima-san nodded in his daughter’s direction. “She practically _begged_ me to let you come, you know.” He cocked his head to the side, one brow raised. “If I didn’t have the staggering self-confidence I do, I might be jealous.”

Takafumi rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. “What, afraid I’m gonna snatch your kid away from you?”

Kirishima-san shrugged with an air that said he wasn’t nearly as choked up about the prospect as he ought to be. “She _does_ spend more time with you than me, these days.” With a sideways glance, he added, “… _Should_ I be afraid?”

“You’re still the one that tucks her in at night—“

“Most days, at least.”

“—so I wouldn’t worry too much about it for now.” He took a swig. “But I’d make days like this more often for her if I were you.”

“Or one of these days she’s gonna start calling _you_ ‘Papa’ and I’ll just be ‘Kirishima-san’.” He closed his eyes and let his head fall back with a loud sigh. “They grow up so fast…”

Takafumi snorted. “You’re not allowed to say that for another ten years at least; she’s not even in grade-school yet.”

“Maybe—but _you_ don’t feel like you were carrying her home from the hospital for the first time just yesterday.” And this must have brought up some unhappy (or at least, unwelcome) memories, for his features clouded over and the easy smile didn’t seem quite so effortless anymore.

Takafumi shifted uncomfortable, groping for a change in topic. “Well, at least your schedule’s easing up, right?” Granted, ‘easing’ was relative when it came to an editor-in-chief, apparently; ‘easing up’ for Kirishima-san meant he could generally make it to Takafumi’s place for dinner at least once a week instead of dragging himself in at half-past-decent and slurping down leftovers before hauling Hiyori-chan back to their apartment. But he supposed Kirishima-san had to have been enjoying a lighter load than usual the past couple of weeks, since he’d managed to carve out the time for this outing in the first place.

Kirishima-san shrugged. “To be honest, I kind of prefer the pressure—gives me something to focus on.” And Kirishima-san likely had a lot of things he’d rather _not_ focus on, so Takafumi offered him a sympathy grunt. “Then again—” The easy grin was back, “—I can’t say I’m not glad my load’s been light enough to grant me a free weekend to spend on a much-deserved date with my daughter and endearing lover.”

And _that_ sobered Takafumi right up, straightening in place and quickly whipping his head around to ensure they hadn’t been overheard. He then leaned forward and dropped his voice to a threatening growl, “Keep it down, idiot! You want the whole park to hear?” Kirishima-san’s expression told him he was strongly considering making a break for the nearest information booth to commandeer their megaphone. “ _Don’t_ answer that—it was a rhetorical question.” He slumped back against the bench, adding sharply. “And this isn’t a _date_.”

“I paid for your ticket.”

“Against my wishes! You can’t _force_ a date on someone—“

“Then you’ll grant me a do-over?”

Takafumi’s features darkened—he wanted to believe Kirishima-san was teasing him, as he was wont to do, but something in the tone he took and the challenging glint in his eyes said that this was _flirting_ , and that implied affection and feelings and all manner of things. It implied the sorts of emotions that allowed two people who slept together to go on _dates_ with one another. He kept his voice even as he bit out his words with severity, so that Kirishima-san could not mistake his emphatic insistence here for ‘another bout of _tsundere_ ’. “This isn’t a date. We are not dating. We are not _lovers_. We aren’t anything.”

Kirishima-san grew decidedly discomfited, pulling back and contorting his features until he finally found his tongue again. “…It was just a joke.” The flush to his cheeks bespoke how embarrassed he was at Takafumi’s display—and honestly, Takafumi was more than a bit ashamed of himself for speaking that way to a _student’s father_ , but he and Kirishima-san hadn’t had a traditional teacher-parent relationship for some months now, so he could be forgiven for the momentary lapse.

“Be that as it may—you presume too much about our relationship sometimes, so I felt the need to remind you.”

Kirishima-san snorted incredulously, settling back against the bench again and staring straight ahead, focused on Hiyori-chan but likely not really _seeing_ her. “Well I sure as hell won’t be forgetting again.”

It made Takafumi wince—he wasn’t used to hearing that tone, and it reminded him that Kirishima-san was a good few years older than he was. It sounded like a parent, scolding a child—even though _he_ was the one who’d just chewed Kirishima-san out. He glanced away awkwardly. “I’m here because Hiyori-chan wanted me to come and I had nothing better to do. We get along—and we have our agreement, but I’ll thank you not to tease about _dates_ or _lovers_.”

Kirishima-san grunted softly. “God forbid I get the idea you might give a shit about me.”

Indeed; after all, Takafumi didn’t want to imagine what state he’d be in should he find himself ‘giving a shit’ about someone when he just wasn’t ready to give up on Masamune. Not yet. Not _ever_. He would be constant and unchanging, his love and longing evergreen while his passions were spent at Kirishima-san’s hand to keep himself from doing something stupid, something _drastic_. Kirishima-san was a good lay—a _great_ one, really, and had Masamune been that good? He couldn’t remember—but he was just…Kirishima-san. A lonely widower with a job that worked him to the bone who just wanted someone to fall into bed with now and then, no strings attached, and Takafumi could do that. _Wanted_ to do that—because he pitied Kirishima-san, even still, but they needed boundaries.

He didn’t want Kirishima-san falling for him, and he didn’t want to risk doing the same. So he had to put his foot down, had to be firm, had to remind him that yeah, they could drink together, they could go on ‘dates’ together, they could kiss and lick and suck and screw, they could do all the things that lovers do, but that didn’t make them anything special. They _couldn’t be_ special—because there was already someone else occupying that role in their lives.

And if Kirishima-san wanted to move on, felt like he’d done his mourning, had his wounds healed and the loss didn’t hurt as much—that was his prerogative. But Takafumi had absolutely no intention of being dragged out of this morass along with him. 

He would continue to wait. Because Masamune was worth it. Kirishima-san would just have to understand that.

* * *

The days grew shorter as the end of the year approached, and not long after the trip to Kuma Park (complete with awkward silences brought on by inappropriate conversations between certain members of their trio), Takafumi’s preschool shut down for the winter break, leaving him with more free time than usual. Given that working parents rarely got the same lengthy break their kids did, most of the children he cared for would be looked after by a local daycare, but Hiyori-chan had already made her preference for staying with “Fumi-sensei” made known.

Kirishima had had the good graces to look abashed in a bout of shame at putting Takafumi on the spot yet again, murmuring under his breath as he bundled her up one evening to head home that _C’mon, let’s give Fumi-sensei a well-deserved break, shall we? He never gets to have any fun with you underfoot all the time now_ , and he’d pinched her nose playfully to ensure she stayed in good spirits.

Takafumi had watched the exchange from the threshold of his kitchen, arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face—an expression brought on primarily from irritation with _himself_ , because somewhere along the way he’d just _assumed_ that Hiyori-chan would stay with him (preschool or no) even during the winter holidays. After all, it wasn’t like Kirishima-san had anyone else to entrust her to (save the daycare route other parents were taking), and he’d already imposed on Takafumi this far, so what was another few weeks of the same?

Hiyori-chan didn’t sound like she was buying it, though, and Kirishima-san seemed to sense that it would be a good idea to get her out of sight and into his car before she broke into a full tantrum, tossing Takafumi an apologetic grin—tinged with no small amount of embarrassment—as he shuttled her out into the chilly hallway. 

Two weeks to himself, two weeks of paid vacation, leaving him free to get drinks with Masamune _on_ his birthday, head back home to visit his folks for the new year, and turn his apartment inside out with a good cleaning, since he’d done little more than sweep haphazardly in the past few months. Two weeks of peace and quiet, with none of the disturbances and unexpected surprises he’d admittedly grown used to over the past several months.

He was having none of it.

“Wait—“ he started, just as the door slipped shut, and his heart jumped into his throat in panic that he’d waited just a moment too long, that now he’d look _needy_ , charging out the door and into the hallway to call them back, and what was he going to say then? It would be hard to ‘act casual’ when he was jogging after them to catch the pair before they boarded the elevator, and—

“You say something?” Kirishima-san had one hand on the door—the other likely holding Hiyori-chan’s hand—and had poked his head back inside, brows lifted in casual expectation but with his eyes betraying the fact that he’d hoped (selfishly) that Takafumi would object to the unexpected vacation he was apparently about to give up.

And so Takafumi had explained himself away—that he could always use the extra money from ‘babysitting’, that he hadn’t been planning on going home this year anyway, that any acquaintances (he’d carefully held back naming names) would probably be too busy to make holiday trips worthwhile, and so there was no reason he couldn’t watch Hiyori-chan during her winter break, especially since Kirishima-san was bound to be even busier prepping publications to make earlier-than-usual deadlines as the end of the year bore down on them.

There had been waffling, back and forth with “I really can’t ask you” and “It’s no trouble at all honestly”, all of the social niceties they were supposed to go through before finally arriving at the foregone conclusion that things would continue on just as they were, and Takafumi was honestly exhausted by the time he saw the Kirishimas out his door a second time. But there was a pep in Hiyori-chan’s step as she sing-songed down the hallway about all of the exciting things she would be doing with Fumi-sensei over the break, and the grateful smile that Kirishima-san favored him with as he slipped over the threshold with a wave of his fingers sent a warm thrill of accomplishment through Takafumi’s chest that would keep him up that evening.

And that was how their intimate little Christmas get-together came to pass, complete with _karaage_ in place of a bucket from Kentucky’s that they hadn’t had time to pre-order and a cake from the Family Mart on the corner—and surprisingly enough, it wasn’t nearly as bad or as awkward as Takafumi had feared it would be.

He wasn’t the holiday-celebrating type and would probably have slept through Christmas if he hadn’t had Hiyori-chan to look after, but he had to admit it was…kind of nice, the way Kirishima-san had obviously rushed home on the 25th, hair askew and cheeks flushed from the nip in the air as he tugged off his scarf while listening to Hiyori-chan regale him with the contents of the feast he was just in time for. Takafumi had stood off to the side, ducking back into the kitchen after letting his guest in (he really ought to think about giving the guy his own key for nights like this when he was busy prepping _tsumami_ )—but dumping a bag of edamame into a bowl didn’t stop his mind from wandering, forming a mental image of Kirishima-san striding through the door like some salaryman from an old drama, greeting his wife and daughter with a belly laugh and a wide smile. He snorted to himself, shaking his head to disperse the image, and refocused on the task at hand.

“What’s so funny?” a soft voice just over his shoulder had asked, and Takafumi jolted, twisting around and batting Kirishima-san away, wary of what he might try granted so intimate a vantage point. 

“Nothing—did you pick up the bottle of oolong like I asked?” Kirishima-san responded by shaking a plastic bag in his face, and he quickly snatched it up, pulling open his fridge to place it inside to chill. When he turned back around though, Kirishima-san was still standing there, brows raised in expectation. “…What?”

“Nothing for me?”

Takafumi frowned, glancing around. “I’ve got a few bowls of _tsumami_ already out on the table if you insist on spoiling your appetite, but I’ll have the main dishes ready in another 5, maybe 10 minutes if you can hold off?”

“Not what I meant,” Kirishima-san responded with a low, soft chuckle, and he stepped forward with long, quick strides across the kitchen to hem Takafumi in against the counter. “Christmas is a day for lovers, you know.”

Takafumi winced as the edge of the counter pressed into his back, glancing furtively toward the threshold and praying Hiyori-chan was distracted. “Not—here, you idiot.”

Which turned out to be the wrong thing to say, for Kirishima-san’s brows quirked knowingly. “Later, then? It’s a promise I’ll hold you to, you know.” And Takafumi would maintain that it was merely the long list of things he had on his plate that made him forget to remind Kirishima-san to stop referring to them as _lovers_ —that theirs was an arrangement of convenience, not affection, and that while he admittedly enjoyed Kirishima-san’s presence on a platonic level (it was nigh on shocking how well they got along when the guy wasn’t trying to get Takafumi out of his pants), that was all the relationship they could ever hope to foster. Takafumi wasn’t going to be anyone’s _rebound_ , especially not a widower’s, and he wouldn’t ask Kirishima-san to commit to a relationship that Takafumi was more than willing to set aside when Masamune finally took a good hard look at him and recognized ten years of patient friendship as ten years of _pining_.

But Kirishima-san wasn’t asking for anything beyond what they’d agreed to right now—and he’d been under a fair bit of pressure recently with the impending end-of-year preparations. That he was here at all probably meant that he’d offered to go in the next day—a national holiday—instead. Or what did Takafumi know—maybe as the editor-in-chief of his magazine, he was expected to be there _regardless_.

He didn’t want to ask—didn’t want to make it seem like this was a pity fuck, or that he felt Kirishima-san ‘deserved’ it, because that wasn’t being fair to either of them. Instead, he placed a hand between them, gently pressing for space and silently grateful when Kirishima-san took a step back without protest, and muttered low enough to be sure Hiyori-chan didn’t overhear, “Much later,” before tracing the filigree impressions in the handsome leather belt at Kirishima-san’s waist.

A hand snapped out to grab his wrist before he could pass, and Kirishima-san’s cheeks had taken on a shameful, confused flush. “…Wait, seriously?”

Takafumi jerked his hand back, flushing himself at the overly _reactive_ response. This would be so much easier if Kirishima-san were more like Masamune—not for the most obvious of reasons, but because it was just… _simpler_ with Masamune. They were on the same wavelength, for the most part; each vibrated at the same pitch as the other, none of this overly familiar _my darling lover_ crap or wild, hopeful expressions after a simple suggestive gesture. He and Masamune just _clicked_ , but with Kirishima-san…there was still this gulf. A gulf that, if bridged, would surely allow them to be more comfortable with one another, would help them understand the extent of what the other wanted—would allow them to _return_ that desire. 

As it was, though, Takafumi was experiencing a growing dread that Kirishima-san was getting far more out of this arrangement than Takafumi, was _expecting_ more out of it.

It was too late, though, to back out now—he just had to ride out these encounters, take his pleasure where he could, and pray that when the time came to uproot and move on, they wouldn’t hurt each other more than necessary. He hoped Kirishima-san felt the same way, because at the rate things were going, there was a very messy break-up in their future, and they weren’t even dating.

He shrugged past Kirishima-san and into the little dining area to finish arranging the table, muttering, “Merry Christmas.”

* * *

It was 30 minutes into the _Kouhaku_ that Takafumi was reminded of why he never watched this sort of thing. The obvious—and most immediately recalled—reason was because, around about this time, he was typically already well on his way to pissed-out-of-his-skull, the floor of Masamune’s apartment littered with empty or mostly empty cans of beer, the stronger spirits waiting in the wings to send them off to a liquored up sleep into the new year.

The less obvious reason, and the one Takafumi was recognizing just now, was that he really just wasn’t all that familiar with the entertainers, both screen and song, these days. 

But Masamune hadn’t invited him over this year for New Year’s eve—a fact he’d distracted himself from via Kirishima-san’s fervent request for help doing end-of-year cleaning—and so here he sat, wedged on the Kirishimas’ tiny little loveseat with Hiyori-chan nodding off between them as they watched a veritable parade of pretty young things both male and female strutting across the stage on screen and belting out ditties to the thrilled screams of a studio audience. 

“I really must be getting old,” Kirishima-san muttered, half to himself, and his glazed gaze reflected the flashing screen of the television. “I don’t recognize a damn one of these people…”

“It can’t be your age; I don’t either,” Takafumi allowed, trying to pick out even _one_ of what was supposed to be the year’s most successful entertainers. He thought he might recognize one of the White Team’s women from a commercial, but he couldn’t be sure. “Probably don’t listen to too much radio with a deadline bearing down on you, though, do you?”

Kirishima-san shrugged with a lazy smile. “Not usually, no. Maybe when this one gets older, I’ll learn about these acts vicariously.” He squeezed Hiyori-chan’s shoulder, and she responded with a soft mumble as she burrowed deeper into his side.

The year-end rush after Christmas had been abhorrent, from what Takafumi could tell, but Kirishima-san rarely let it show. Takafumi had learned the tells, though—he’d learned to see Kirishima-san’s exhaustion in the almost giddy way he flirted as the month drew on, any good sense he might have had giving way to sheer unadulterated id, had learned to divine just how hard he was pushing himself in the bags under his eyes and the way he hadn’t taken that flirting to its natural end, even _with_ Hiyori-chan asleep in the next room.

But it was New Year’s eve, now, and the bells of _hatsumoude_ were already tolling. Masamune was probably sound asleep, drooling over a half-finished manuscript that editor of his was constantly hounding him to finish, and would offer him an apologetic _Happy New Year_ text in the next 24 hours, which Takafumi would shake his head at and forgive, because he always did. 

“Come with us to visit the shrine down the block in the morning,” was Kirishima-san’s exhausted, whispered request, and Takafumi tore his gaze from an all-girls group dancing on the television screen to frown at him. He was met with a crooked grin in response to his confusion. “It’s too late for you to head home now, anyway, so you may as well stay the night. Plus I want to see your fortune.”

Takafumi snorted softly reaching over to run fingers through Hiyori-chan’s hair as she snored lightly. “What would another year of looking after your offspring qualify as?”

The grin widened. “Most definitely ‘great blessing’. Especially since you get me as a bonus.”

“I’m dubious.”

“Then come find out.” But before Takafumi could respond one way or the other, Kirishima-san shifted in place. “But first, help me get this one to bed.”

Takafumi grunted his reply, taking care not to disturb Hiyori-chan too much as he and Kirishima-san maneuvered her to rest against Kirishima-san’s chest, her father rocking her gently as he slipped into her room. Takafumi glanced down at the couch when he found himself alone, considering making himself comfortable, before trying to recall just where Kirishima-san had mentioned keeping the extra bedding. He didn’t much fancy the idea of spending the night—it was inappropriate for a number of reasons—but it would be next to impossible to find a taxi at this time of night, and he only had a few thousand yen on his person, certainly not enough to get halfway across the city.

There was a soft creak, and Takafumi shot up straight, glancing around like a startled animal. Kirishima-san just raised a finger to his lips and crept forward, his voice low and soft when he spoke. “She wouldn’t shut up earlier about wanting to watch the year roll over—and look at her now.”

Takafumi relaxed a hair. “She’s a kid; she’ll probably be nodding off like that every year from now til her teens at least.”

“Good,” Kirishima-san grinned. “Works out perfectly for us.” And when Takafumi’s guard started to go back up, Kirishima-san stepped forward, whining, “Just—come on, don’t fight me on this tonight. I’m exhausted.” He was probably playing the sympathy card, more than a little too expertly, but Takafumi didn’t doubt that he really _was_ exhausted. Takafumi was too, and he hadn’t had _half_ as busy a schedule in the last week as Kirishima-san had.

He glanced over Kirishima-san’s shoulder at the hallway, down which Hiyori-chan’s bedroom lay. “It’s…I told you before, not while she’s—“

“It doesn’t have to be that,” Kirishima-san interrupted, drawing far too close for comfort—enough to reach out and grab at the hem of Takafumi’s shirt, tugging him forward. “We don’t have to…” He seemed to grope for delicate phrasing. “I’m just tired is all. And I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. Not when you’re _here_.” And it wouldn’t be the first time they’d slept together…but it would be the first time they’d done so _without_ the blessed lassitude wrought by sex to help them forget they weren’t supposed to be sharing a bed like some old married couple.

“I…I shouldn’t, not when she could…” he tried vainly.

“It’s ridiculous for you to sleep on the couch, and she’s too young to know any better either way. We won’t even strip down—perfect gentleman, I swear.”

It felt too much like being wooed, far too intimate a request, but the logic lined up, and the loveseat was tiny. A futon on the floor would’ve been bearable, but after years on a mattress, Takafumi doubted his back would thank him in the morning. The bed was both the most and least promising option. He ran a hand through his hair, then ducked a nod, waving at Kirishima to head on into the bedroom, with Takafumi dutifully following.

He’d been in here a few times, and once he stopped looking at it as far too intimate an invasion of privacy with a student’s father and let himself relax, it wasn’t a bad place. The bed was wide—far too wide for a single person, and the first time he’d thought that, he’d quickly reminded himself _probably because it held another body until six months ago_ —but at least it would give him space, and the light was low, almost romantic, and comforting. 

He quickly disrobed, stripping down to an undershirt and boxers and taking care to ignore what Kirishima-san was wearing to bed—this wasn’t sexual, this wasn’t preparing for anything, it was just sharing a bed for a night, and he was an _adult_. They both were, and they could handle this.

But he still froze stiff when, in the darkness they were plunged into after Kirishima-san doused the lights, he felt a touch light on his shoulder and a body move up close behind him. “…You don’t have to be so tense. I’m not gonna jump you.” And Takafumi did believe him—because flirt though the guy might be, willing to steal kisses at any given opportunity when Hiyori-chan was out of the room, he’d never pressed for more than Takafumi had been willing to give and had proven he could keep his hands to himself. 

What, then, Takafumi was worried about just now…was beyond him. He had no logical cause to be so tense, so on-edge, and Kirishima-san clearly understood this. All he needed to do was lie back, calm his breathing, and drift off to sleep. It was like a school trip—he simply needed to see this for the platonic arrangement it was.

“…I can’t do this,” he grumbled through grit teeth, then heaved himself upright and tore back the comforter, shifting around and tugging Kirishima-san’s boxers down with one hand while he laved the palm of the other with a generous coating of all the saliva he could manage.

“What the—Takafumi, what’re— _shit_.”

Takafumi tried not to smile too self-satisfiedly as he took as much of Kirishima-san’s cock as he could manage into his mouth, relaxing his throat to slide down a bit further before slurping loudly as he pulled up and off. He swiped his tongue over the tip, rapidly bulging as blood rushed to the member from the rather limp state it had been in. He braced the shaft, gently but methodically stroking to erection and trying to tune out Kirishima-san’s hissed babbling to _fuck, you can’t—you don’t have to…seriously!_

He couldn’t do it—he couldn’t just give in to a genuine plea for human warmth and companionship, not like this, not in a married man’s _bed_. He couldn’t do it and keep his head, because this was the start of a slippery slope, and he was already granting Kirishima-san liberties he ought to know better than to divulge. There would come a day, at this rate, when Kirishima would kiss him goodnight like they’d been married ten years, and Takafumi would follow him a short while later—they’d fall asleep next to one another, narry a word exchanged between them much less sexual favors, and Takafumi would _like it_. He’d be satisfied that he’d found someone he could _be like that_ with.

Because screwing someone on a regular basis was one thing, but sleeping with them, sleeping _next to them_ , their body heat welcome and the soft sounds of their inhalations and exhalations lulling you to sleep…that was something else. Something Takafumi _wanted_. Wanted—with Masamune. And if he gave it to Kirishima-san right now, he’d never have that chance, because Kirishima-san could probably make it good, could make Takafumi feel wanted and needed and appreciated, and he didn’t want to get comfortable with that, because _he wanted Masamune_.

So he’d fuck Kirishima-san—would suck him and jerk him off and screw him and let himself be pounded into the mattress, whatever the guy wanted. But he was not going to sleep with him, not without this pretense, this wall of lust that he could put up and hide behind, safe in the appearance that he just couldn’t control himself.

He whimpered around the leaking cockhead in his mouth when a thumb and forefinger reached forward to trace his shaft, straining against the front of his briefs. He thrust forward, a tiny jerk of his hips, until he was close enough for Kirishima-san to reach in and start stroking in earnest. With each downward stroke, the warm, heavy shaft brushing over his tongue and against the back of his throat and out again, Kirishima-san reflected the motions with a firm grip and a swipe of his finger over his slit. 

Kirishima-san tasted bitter, less salty than usual, and Takafumi briefly wondered if this was karma, all those sour emotions building up inside the man now leaking out through his dick. Maybe if they were in love, if they gave a shit about each other, he’d taste like all kinds of romantic crap—like cinnamon or vanilla or whatever the hell ‘male musk’ was supposed to be. But they weren’t in love, and Kirishima-san’s seed tasted horrible, but still he suckled and gorged himself until he felt Kirishima-san’s attentions on his own cock grow feverish and jerky, felt the hips beneath him start to jolt, and in short order he was straining to swallow the evidence of a blowjob well done.

He didn’t cough, didn’t sputter or spit, just kept his eyes closed even though the dark of the room meant he wouldn’t be able to see Kirishima-san’s face even if he’d wanted to. He continued to lap lazily at the tip long after he’d cleaned it, but his attentions to the withering shaft grew distracted as he felt his own orgasm rise up and overtake him, releasing with a strained grunt over Kirishima-san’s fingers. 

The mattress squeaked and shifted as Kirishima-san reached for something—tissues? probably—and mopped the both of them clean. The room was silent subsequently for a while, and just when Takafumi feared the worst, that Kirishima-san would ask _what was that for?_ , the man had the gall to start _snickering_.

He couldn’t help himself. “Wh…what?”

A beat. “…Nothing. Just.”

A familiar flash of irritation broke through, granting the awkward moment some semblance of normalcy. “Spit it out.” He then winced—he could have chosen those words more carefully.

Kirishima-san didn’t pursue the joke waiting to be made, though, instead commenting, “…They say…that whatever you’re doing at midnight…is what you’ll be doing the rest of the year.”

Takafumi turned the comment over in his mind for a moment—before snorting derisively and twisting around to take his place on the mattress once more, punching the pillow beneath his head and settling in. “You should be so lucky.”

And the thought that, a year from now, he would still be here, warming Kirishima-san’s bed in lieu of a truly mutual, rewarding relationship with the person he was helplessly in love with, ought to have inspired more foreboding and despair in his heart…but all he found himself left with was a brief flicker of warmth and an empty gratitude that Kirishima-san never asked why he did the things he did.


End file.
